As the Threads Come Loose
by KlibanKatz
Summary: A young lady arrested for Skooma possession gets tangled up in fighting the Emperor's war. We follow her course from piety to insanity as she ventures through Cyrodill, the Isles, and back again. Please R&R! Martin/OC/LuLa Violence/Ch.8&on:Sexuality
1. A Bloody, Bloody Mess

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Please leave some!

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia, a Breton girl from Bravil, finds herself outside of the Imperial Prison with the king's amulet. In order to deliver this amulet to the Priory, she tries her luck in the Arena to raise funds for her journey west.

* * *

I was a daughter of Bravil- born and raised. Our town was full of colorful folk. City-Swimmer in her earlier days was especially a riot. We held a tiny apartment on the "waterfront", or as I should really say, overlooking the sewers. It was all that could be afforded. Mother was a tavern wench, put plainly, and although she had a rather steady arrangement going with a man of the Bravil militia, he would never formally divorce his wife. Every so often he would throw a few coin our way for fresh fish from the market. Anything was better than stick fishing in the murky stream of human waste and insects out back.

Now I would welcome the smell of stagnant water and filth compared to the stench of bile that clung to me. As I stood on the other side of the metal grate which covered the tunnel to the Imperial sewers, I held the shiny trinket in my hand. After making sure I was alone, I marveled at it. The Amulet of Kings. Its ruby-colored stone was unmarred by time, and the metal shone like it had been freshly polished. I was sure that it must have been enchanted.

I squinted in the bright light of day. _Which way to go?_ Over the rolling hills I could see a stone wall. _There! The city must be just beyond those walls._ It was just my luck that the only prison of any size was located in the Imperial City. How was I ever going to get home to Bravil? Furthermore, where was I going to get the gold to make my way to Chorrol to deliver this rock? It was quite the walk. By The Nine, my first holy quest and just my luck that all of the coffers in Cyrodill that might finance me are empty.

I approached the massive wooden reinforced doors that blocked my path, and slowly they gave way, creating my entry into a cobblestone paved world of bounty. It was nothing at all like the streets of Bravil. We had just always assumed that everyone in Cyrodill lived like we did. Except for the people in Leyawiin—they were all rich. Surely these people must have been living above their means. Everyone was chattering in the streets, bustling about the statue of Talos that was poised in the centre of the square. _Dear me!_ Never, in all of my years of serving The Nine, had I ever seen or heard of anything so grand! And around the statue, like little children around the altar, men and mer of all sizes! If I had ever doubted my faith, it would have then been restored. With a final gaze, I, at first with little success, fought my way through the crowd to the door to the next district.

I was discontented in that it was my first time in the Imperial City, and perhaps my only visit, and all I would allow myself to think about was the quickest route out of the city. Before I could even attempt going west, I needed a means to pay for my travel expenses, and in hopes of saving my poor feet, a steed. If there was anywhere that an odd job could be gotten, it was this city. I could beg for it, but how the streets were already littered with beggars! Not to mention that even the beggars were better attired than I. I was not high enough in social class to beg it seemed, and as such, I turned my attention elsewhere. A whore? Not a good fit for financing a holy quest. I heard that the Mages' Guild was recruiting, and I was skilled enough in magic, being Breton, but upon further inquiry, I found that there was no chapter here in the city, save the Arcane University, which did not have the proper papers for me to join through them.

Then, I saw it.

In the Arena district the air reeked of blood and grass, but the loud cheering and the sounds of clinking swords drew me in. Men got rich from betting and competing in the Arena all of the time. Men also lost their fortunes here. However, the key word here was "men." Well, it was nobler than turning tricks, but the thought of battling to the death turned my stomach sour. _Would the gods allow it? _However, I was frankly running out of options, and this seemed the most feasible. The attendant directed me to the bloodworks.

He was laughing at me. Really. He was laughing!

"Sir, I fear I don't understand your amusement."

"Y-you.. want to join the Arena? Hah! Lady, are you serious? You are so slight of frame that your bones look to be hollow! And YOU want to compete in the arena?" Owyn's entire body shook with laughter. He was so loud that an Orc, who was training, stopped his sparring to stare in my direction to see what was so entertaining.

"I need this job. If you believe I truly am so foolhardy in trying my hand in battle than I believe you and the good people of Cyrodill will get the last laugh. Either way, it works out in your favor, so I am afraid I don't see the problem here." I was mildly annoyed, but I still tried to appeal to his business sense.

"Hahah! It's fine by me, lady, just as long as I'm not the one who has to mop your pretty face off of the pit floor. Your name?"

"Hetalia."

"Very nice, but doesn't quite have the same ring to it as 'Pit Dog.' Speaking of which, here is your blue team raiment, short list of the regulations of the Arena, and when or IF you decide that you're ready for your first match, speak to me, Pit Dog! Now find someone else to bother."

"Owyn, I'd very much like to begin now, if I might."

"Without even having read the rules? That's insulting."

"I'll be sure to study them on my way up, sir. After I get changed, of course." I tried a smile.

"Moxie. Off you go then; it's only your funeral."

I could hear the clanking of a gate opening, and after exiting the small alcove in which Owyn was standing, surveying the combatants, I could see that what he had called his "Red Room" was little more than a bloody mess. The stench was overwhelming and I felt suddenly faint. I took a deep breath of diseased air and carefully picked my way up the curve to the Arena door, avoiding the globs of carnage that lay like banana peels on the slick floor.

I went down on one knee. _Bloodied before I even made it into the pit_. This was a bad sign, I'd say. What had I slipped on? I looked down and saw what looked like it used to be an ear. I gasped and found myself dry-heaving inches above the moist floor. This would be the death of me already. I rushed to the door, longing for fresh air. I couldn't do this. I'd seen many men and mer brawl or be killed in the streets, but I had never participated myself. It was a frightening prospect, but I couldn't turn away now. Maybe I would die. Gee, perhaps I'd be a martyr?

I threw the door open and I was behind another gate. I heard a booming man's voice from overhead. What magic did he used to make his voice so loud? There was no way he could shout over the crowds cheering and still be heard by all.

I would be fighting a "Pit Dog" as well. What was this? A dog fight? I felt insulted. At the very least I was a lady. Out came my rusty dagger. It smelt of mudcrabs.

The gates lifted and I felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. Before I could exit the gate a Bosmer came rushing at me, screaming. I needed to reduce his accuracy. I shoved my palm forward and the spell connected as he continued to barrel towards me. All I could do was try to sidestep and hope that his accuracy had been hindered enough so that I could try to form a plan of attack. I could see the shininess of his blade and I panicked, cornering myself somehow in hopes of avoiding it. I was successful. At this close range I could use a flare spell to buy time while I ran out of the corner. I shoved my glowing palm in his face, gritting my teeth in the bitter spirit of self-preservation. I sprinted into the open area, before he could recover. I readied my dagger. He would be angry and charge at me again. I could only run for so long. Someone would have to make a death blow. I had a feeling it wouldn't be me.

He scrambled to his feet, tiny red scratches on his exposed joints, and a few conspicuous burn marks on his cheeks. He cried out, screeched as a matter of fact, before he threw both of his arms up into the air, one holding his blade, and made a beeline to the center of the pit, where I was standing. I felt like I could see death; the Nine preserve me! My eyes shut tight and I thrust my dagger forward in the empty air.

I felt a recoil. My eyes opened. There he was: the Bosmer, impaled on the rusty iron spike I held. His face was that of surprise. Perhaps it simply mirrored my own. My grip loosened, and he fell to the floor with a thud, the dagger buried in his chest. The scent of blood wafted up from the man—the body. It was so very, very frightening. I wailed on the pit floor, shocked at my own fear, shocked at my own survival, shocked that I had taken a life. Surely the gods would understand—I did this for them. To finance the holy quest I had been sent out to complete by the emperor. Er…, the…late…emperor. The booming voice told me to rest in the bloodworks, that I had earned it. I felt dirty. I felt sick. If I had eaten lunch, I thought I would surely have lost it. I yanked at the door at the far end of the Arena, but it wouldn't budge. What was this cruel trick? Would they send out another combatant to finish me off? My arm had a nasty stab wound that I hadn't noticed before. I guess that was the true power of adrenaline. And I guess that's how Redguards died in battle. They didn't realize they were bleeding out until it was too late. But why wasn't the door opening_? Oh, this was the yellow team's bloodworks… It'd be best if I stayed out of there, I suppose. _

I stumbled back to the blue team's door, embarrassed, confused, and nauseated. Not again to the room of blood…

It stunk just as much as it had twenty minutes ago. It wasn't that I had expected it to change, but perhaps that I would grow a bit more used to it. However, something was different. There was a font in the middle of the room, stained with blood still, but the water was still and clear. I reached in to clean the blood spatter from my hands and face, and I felt a cool aura wash over me. My arm seemed to suddenly hurt less. I actually felt substantially better than I had a moment ago. But my mind had not calmed. I was still a mess, shaking violently in the fingers and chewing a near hole in my lip to keep from crying. I would tell Owyn I quit. He was right. This wasn't for me.

"Owyn, I cannot."

"Can't what? You won, Pit Dog! You think I'd let you quit? You can quit after you advance, if you live that long. Fifty gold for this match. C'mon, don't turn yellow on me now."

"Owyn, I cannot. I don't even have a weapon." I resorted to the obvious reasons. "I left it out there in the Arena. I cannot fight. Anyway, this isn't for me. I feel sick, I have to go—" I turned to leave, but with an outstretched arm, he stopped me.

"Come on sweetheart, even if you don't want to fight…" To him my fear seemed appealing, having not seen it before. Sick man. "I'm sure we could find some odd job for you around here for you to make a few extra coin…"

"Let her go now, Blademaster." A throatier voice interjected, congenial but convincing, moving his pale green body onto the scene. "No need to trouble the lady further. Made a mistake was all." It was the Orc that had been listening before the match.

"Sir…" I murmured. I was surprised. Owyn withdrew his hand. "My deepest apologies for havin' troubled ye." I skirted out of the bloodworks, trying not to slip on the pools of blood on the floor that leaked from the ceiling.


	2. Charity

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Please leave some!

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia learns a few things about hospitality. At length, she finds a job at the Bloated Float on the Waterfront. She also learns that the kindness of others is alive and well in the Imperial City.

* * *

Fie, what an ordeal! The Nine 'tended to put me through a ringer for this. I jingled the gold coins in my pocket. It was a pleasant sound, but not the sound of horseshoes on the stone road… I needed to make more money in a more socially acceptable way for a lady. _What to do…_

I wandered the Imperial City for a few hours, checking in at the various shops, looking for work. The market district turned me away, shop after shop. Apparently, they were all doing quite badly since Thoronir came about and couldn't afford to hire a hand. _Pity…_

The Talos Plaza District, which had caught my attention on my arrival, was hiring help in the inns, but the proprietor of the King and Queen said I was too "crude" for the task. Maybe it was the way shoved past a Khajiit on my way to the front desk. "We treat everyone here like a King," he said. By the Nine, no Khajiit should ever be King. Not even in Elseweyr.

I was at a loss. It was getting late in the day now and I had spent most of it looking for work. My gold was even dwindling. I guess fifty septims doesn't get one far in the big city. Food and drink is so expensive… I felt most at home where I was now, on the city's waterfront. These people lived comfortably in their private shacks or bedrolls, dressed in comfortable, lived in clothes. A pity I couldn't stay here. Look! They were even near the docks! _How lovely!_

The ships swayed to-and-fro on the water, which was now reflecting the brilliant moons. The sea was quiet, aside from the raucous noise coming from inside a cargo ship on the front. Wait, was this a tavern? Another big city wonder! A tavern on water called The Bloated Float! Certainly such a tavern would be busy, being such a novel idea, and would be desperately looking for a waitress. I paraded in, so sure of myself, and just as I had suspected, the bar tender was running himself ragged. There was a large table assembled in the centre of the room in which fifteen to twenty armor-clad soldiers were crowded around, drinking from tankards and laughing heartily.

"Sir," I approached the proprietor as he made his way back to the bar to refill tankards. "It seems as though you are in need of help, and lucky enough it seems that I am in need of a job."

"Er, what? Oh, my, yes, how fortunate. It never gets this busy! Here, take this tray over to them. Can't keep the Imperial watch waiting, you know!"

That was it. How simple this had all become. I could wait tables! It was in my blood just as deep as my affinity for magic.

The Imperial watchmen were a loud bunch, lewd and nasty, too. No matter. There's far worse in Bravil. All the more reason why we have a militia. Turned out a handful of them were scheduled to do a sting in the Waterfront's residential area, something about the Gray Fox and the Garden of Dereloth, and they had brought some of their off-duty friends for a bit of a party before they headed out. By the Nine, it was beyond me how they were ever going to be effective with the brains fermented in beer.

The night dragged on. The men destined for duty got up and left shortly before midnight, staggering all about, and smelling of hops. The rest of them slowly became quiet, perhaps slipping in and out of sleep. At this point the Orc bouncer would tell them they needed to move along or rent a bed… but these were men of the Imperial guard, men who one does not simply cut off or send home.

Others filtered in and out through the night with little to say. Ormil turned to me as he polished the bar, the traffic finally coming to a near halt. "Say, we did pretty well tonight. I haven't seen swell like that in a long time. I'm lucky you came by."

"And I'm lucky that you were ill prepared." I laughed to myself, and Ormil reflected my good humor.

The ship's door creaked slightly as someone sauntered in and sat down at the bar. "I'd like a beer." His voice was low and gruff.

As Ormil bent beneath the counter to get a clean tankard he said, "You're welcome to go home now, if you'd like. I can handle it from here. You should go get some rest. You can come back in the morning for your share of tonight's profits."

"Oh, no. I need this job, Ormil. I'll stay 'til morning." I could see from the corner of my eye that the patron's head darted upward towards me. "I have to save up money quickly, so that I can get out of the city. I have to go a long way west."

"Well, if you're sure then. I'm happy to have you. I'll be right back." Ormil set the tankard down on the bar in front of the Orc and left the room. I turned my attention to the Orc. I'd seen him before. He took a sip and eyed me.

"I thought I had heard that before. What's with the rush to get out of town, ma'am? The Imperial City not exciting enough for you?" He chuckled.

"I need to go to Chorrol. And then back home to Bravil. It's quite a jaunt, especially unaccompanied and on foot. I'm trying to save for a horse…" Finally, I could place him. "Oh, thank you for umm… helping Owyn come to his senses." He was the pale-faced Orc from the bloodworks. I smiled.

The Orc cleared his throat and said, "You can't be too mad at him, really. Poor guy spends more time in the bloodworks than we do. You're the first woman he's seen in a while that looks like a woman. Doesn't often see any frailty, no offense."

"I was ill prepared for the arena. Nothing more to say. A dreadful place."

"But a home, nonetheless. It's helped a lot of people who have come through, feeling like they were stuck. But me, I'm still stuck."

"You want to leave the Arena? Why not get up and go?"

"Where I want to go… you can't just get up and leave to get there."

I leaned on the bar and frowned. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help."

"Heh, my problems are not yours. No sense burdening you with them. But say, what if I help make you load a little lighter?" He held out his coin purse to me, fat with septims.

"Sir?" He nudged it toward me.

"I'm sure Snak can find some kind of horse to sell you. Tell her the Gray Prince sent you and I'm sure she'll find something." He smiled.

"The Gray Prince?" He placed the hefty purse in my hands. "Blessings of Mara to you, Sir."

He chuckled to himself and placed down the empty tankard. "Now I can sleep. Thank you for your company. Hopefully you'll visit the arena again, just not the pit." He laughed. "Goodnight."

The door closed behind him and I was alone. I sat on a barstool and gawked at the wallet, bursting at its seams. I heard a noise and tucked the bag of coins away, and turned to smile at Ormil, who was walking back into the room. Then it hit me: the Prince hadn't paid.

- - -

Morning came and its light shone through the tiny porthole-like windows of the boat. I opened my eyes, still feeling heavy, wanting sleep.

"I felt bad to wake you." Ormil sat, eating breakfast in the centre of the room. I had slept face down on the bar all night. I massaged my cheek, which felt sore, and my jaw felt stiff. I stretched and yawned. "Come now, have some venison and eggs." My stomach gurgled. Any kind of food sounded good now. I took a seat next to Ormil and began to eat. "Made quiet a profit last night. I think it was the luck of the lady, you know?" _Oh, the Lucky Old Lady… how I longed to go home…_ "I was thinking it over last night," he talked between mouthfuls. "You work hard and I'd like to take you on as a permanent employee." I felt the coin purse's heavy weight against my skin. After payment, I would have enough for a horse and food and lodging all the way to Chorrol. I couldn't stay here.

"Ormil…" I paused. "I really would like to stay here, but I can't. You know I need to go west."

"For what? For what? This city can offer you everything and more than you would find anywhere in Cyrodiil!" He was suddenly excited and worried.

"I… cannot say. I need to leave today is all. I'm so sorry."

He sighed heavily. I felt so bad to disappoint him. "I suppose what is, is. I only hope it is worth it for you. People come from all over Tamriel to see the Imperial City."

"I know. I'm glad I had the chance." Ormil handed me a sack full of coins. My wage, I supposed.

"Be careful on your journey. I hear there's trouble out west, near Kvatch."

"I see. Take care, Ormil. Thanks again."

Outside the sun was bright on my face and I felt suddenly rejuvenated, excited by finally moving along. At the stables, he was right; Snak Gra-Bura did have a horse, one that she had resisted from eating. It was probably because it was an old and gamey-looking mare.

"Because the Prince sent you, I'll outfit her with some nice steel armor-- a little peace of mind for your journey. Off you go now!" The woman had relieved me of nearly half of my total gold. No wonder she was so pleased.

The horse was as advertised. An old thing, but still looked strong, and even a bit intimidating with all of that armor. All of this trouble I had gone through when the Nine could have just willed it up. After saddling up, I started off to Chorrol.


	3. Spitting Image

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Please leave some!

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia reaches the Priory, only to be told the Emperor's son is at another location. Moved by the destruction of Kvatch, and in pursuit of reaching Martin, she resolves to close the Oblivion gate that obliterated the town. Badly injured, she finally awakes in Cloud Ruler Temple where she comes face to face with the man she has long been in search of.

* * *

Just outside of a week I trotted into the outskirts of Chorrol. I wasn't just looking for the city itself, I was looking for the Priory house just outside. I stared into the sky, looking so hard for the tall spires of the chapel that would jut into the sky, that I nearly missed the place as I rode up to it. I dismounted and sprinted up to the Priory house. _The heir must be here!_ That long ride across the countryside gave me a lot of time to think about the Emperor's words. All of that reflecting had made me a bit stir-crazy, perhaps. I burst through the door and interrupted the conversation of the nearest brothers.

"I'm looking for Martin! Martin? Where can I find him?" I was suddenly frantic, dying to see the Emperor's son. But the brothers stared defensively.

"I think you'd better see Brother Jauffre upstairs if you're looking for someone. He'd know how to find them."

I tore up the staircase, made a left, and stared into an empty bedroom. I made a complete turn and ran in the opposite direction. On the other end of the room an older man was standing with one hand on a dagger which was on the desk before him. "Martin? I'm looking for Martin. Are you Jauffre?!" Why couldn't I calm down? My heart was in my throat. Suddenly I felt sick and began coughing.

"What is your business here? Why do you disturb us?"

"I… I have the amulet. The Amulet of Kings. I need to see Martin. That's his name, right? His Majesty wanted him to have it."

"You have the amulet!?" His voice was louder than my own had been. I felt weak now, and I placed my weight on a chair.

"Yes…" I pulled it out of my breast pocket. "Here. It's of no use to _me—_ can't even wear the damned thing." I panted and coughed. I had definitely caught something while poking around in the wilderness. "His Majesty said the plane of Oblivion threatens us. How can it threaten us?"

"I am not sure." He took the amulet from me and eyed it for a long time. I eased myself into the chair I was leaning on. After a length of time, Jauffre approached me with a look of pity. I coughed weakly. He blinked, and touched the glands on my neck. "Likely Blood Lung…," he mused and with the application of his hands and a flash of light the heaviness in my chest began to subside.

"Thank you." He only gazed again at the amulet. "Where is Martin?"

Jauffre sat down. "Brother Martin lives out his days as a priest of Akatosh in Kvatch. As far as he knows, his father was a farmer. It's a shame it can't remain that way. If it has come to this, the last and unspoken heir, things truly are bad. You must find him. Bring him back here. If the enemy was able to get to the Emperor, they are likely to know about Martin, too."

"What good will bringing him back here do? Isn't he more at risk in a monastery?"

"I suppose I can't blame you for your ignorance. The Blades are supposed to be a secret. After this crisis, it is hard to believe that this Empire has any secrets anymore. Martin will be in good hands here, protected by the Blades that reside here at Weynon Priory. When it is safe, we will move him elsewhere. Go now to Kvatch and bring him here quickly. If the enemy knows anything about what's going on, they will attack there next."

I departed for Kvatch shortly after, feeling better, but still quite lethargic and mentally worn down. It was a bit of a disappointment, not seeing the heir himself at the Priory, but I felt blessed by having the privilege to go fetch him. However, Kvatch was another rather long jaunt, and my funds were dwindling. If I didn't regain a proper diet, I might find myself in the same condition as Gra-Bura—eating my horse.

Now it was southwest, venturing closer to the Valenwood border. It would have taken a week's time to get to Kvatch if I had traveled like I had to Weynon Priory, but this time I did it with such haste that it only took about four days. I had stopped off at the Chapel of Stendarr in Chorrol before my departure and used some weak restorative spells that were being taught there to keep myself alert during the journey. I was mildly proud of myself, having only stopped once for a full night's rest when I felt particularly ill. This evening, as I climbed the intimidating hills outside Kvatch, I could only pray that the Nine would keep me standing.

There was a heavy wind here, which blew around ash and cinders probably from a campfire, and I wouldn't have taken any notice to it had there not been such a foul smell in the air. Absolutely putrid, really. Like burning, rotting goblin flesh. Made my eyes burn. The sky was turning the color of lava and it looked as though a storm was being whipped up. _What was going on here?_ As I rode up to what I thought was a little campers' settlement, yet not so much unlike Weye, an Altmer ran past me yelling for me to go back.

Confused, I dismounted. The old mare did not want to stay put, obviously upset by the weather, so I had to tether her to a tree. I approached a Redguard woman who was weeping on a bench.

"Ma'am? Are you alright?" I rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. Something terrible had happened here.

"It's gone... It's all gone…," she sniffled. "In the night... the whole city... gone in a flash. We didn't even see it coming. We're literally all that's left." Her face never left her hands.

How alarming. "What happened here last night?"

"We don't know. Daedra attacked the town. Something came through the gate and....it all went up in flames. Please, the guards would know more. Leave me."

She wept openly after that, and feeling shame having disturbed her, I decided to leave without another word. I looked around the camp and saw about ten people, both men and women, standing about idly outside of tents, or before campfires. Were they all that were left? They seemed to be lost, stuck; they were devastated. I asked a man where I could find Martin, and he said he believed the priest was still holed up in the chapel with the faithful. So, there were still more of them. Their town was gone, but how could that be? Daedra never have attacked with such force that they could destroy a whole city. There was some terrible, perverted force at work here. I would see to it that the Nine would have the ultimate victory here.

The road wound around further up the mountains and seemed to lead to some burning place. The smell grew stronger. The goblin flesh smell I had identified earlier was clearly now the smell of burning human flesh. I was apprehensive to see the real damage as I came up the hillside.

There was a makeshift blockade that had been built up, presumably by the remainder of the Kvatch guard, and a small company of soldiers stood behind it. As I came closer to them, I must have made noise, for they all turned immediately to me, the archers ready to fire.

"Ho! A woman! Stand down, men!" Fear had welled up momentarily, but it subsided as the archers denocked their arrows. Several of them returned to keeping a watchful eye on something. Once I saw it, I was amazed that I had not seen at it first, the huge gate. Red and glowing, it spewed fire and brimstone. And death. It was nearly as tall as the city's walls themselves. What might come out of this gate was not something I would want to imagine, even in my darkest nightmare.

"What are you doing here?" He spoke again. "Get back down to the encampment with the rest of the townsfolk! This is no place for you, ma'am."

"Captain," I was sure that's who he was. The men seemed to hang on his every word. "I need you to let me by. There is a person I must find who I believe is still inside the city—Brother Martin, the priest of Akatosh. He needs to leave with me for Weynon."

"Ma'am, no one's getting in or out of here until that gate is closed. My men are working hard at keeping whatever is in that gate from escaping into the camp, and we have some of our other men working from inside the gate. Those holed up in the chapel will be escorted out in due time, please be patient. We need to first close the gate."

"How long have they been in there?"

"Quite some time now. We expect they're close"

Probably dead then.

_Was this a spark of brilliance?_ "I'll close the gate." _Or madness?_

"I'm sorry? Did I hear you right? You intend to close the gate when my men have yet to? Do you honestly believe that there is a way that I'd let you even attempt this? It's too dangerous for you, especially without armor or a real blade!"

"I protect myself in other ways, Captain. I go of my own free will. My blood will not be on your hands. If there is a single thing one learns from being raised in Bravil, it's how to look after oneself." With a nod I passed him and his company by, past the wooden blockade, past the bodies of malnourished scamps. Have they really not seen Daedra before? Were they really threatened by such tiny minions of the false gods? These men were weak in their faith.

"Seize her!" I could see from over my shoulder that his men were fearful to move beyond the fence. "You fools! You want to let her kill herself? Stop her!"

They rushed after me, but it was too late. With a hot flash of light, I was inside.

---

It was rather hot and unpleasant inside the gate. I should say, on this plane of Oblivion. It was eerie, and the dead landscape was dotted with the charred corpses of unfortunate men. There didn't seem to be anything around at all. Where were these men the Captain sent in? Had they all been reduced to piles of ash? If there was something to keep this gate open, most likely it would be in a place of honor. I needed to find this place. With the casting of a shield spell, I darted off into the sweltering wastes.

If I met adversity, my first instinct was to run, not out of cowardice, I'd like to think. The object was not to kill every single Daedra found on this plane, but to find a way to shut them all inside as quickly as possible. I expected this would work as did other magical portals. Once the anchoring of the plane is disturbed, the portal would close, transporting foreign objects out and back to their home plane. If this did not hold true for these gates, plainly, I was in trouble.

By this time I was inside a tall spire lighted by flame. I held the key a trapped guard informed me I would need, Menien I believe was his name, and proceeded to what he called the "Sigillum Sanguis." I needed to extract the Sigil stone, the seal, in order to destroy the anchor of the portal. I had been lucky. Scamps and baby clannfear were relatively slow moving, and I could easily outrun them. The only difficulty I had was that I had exhausted my magic in shielding myself and shocking the dremora Sigil Keeper, frightening as he was, to death to get this key. By now the burn marks on my legs where the scamps had not quite missed me were really beginning to smart. I was so close though, and the lesser Daedra had to be gaining, so there was no time to rest and replenish.

The door into the keep opened and a fierce wind swept in. I took the time to lock the door behind me, for fear of the Daedra overwhelming me when they caught up. Now, I needed to take time to observe my surroundings. Certainly this seal would not be kept unguarded. I peeked around the corridor into the main room. It was an abhorring sight of flesh and blood strewn about as if for decoration. Walkways had been constructed from the red flesh stripped from the gods-only-know and fleshy looking pods hung from the sides covered in viscous mucus. When I gasped at this sight I truly got a sense of this disgusting display. The stench was above all I had ever encountered: a dirty, rotting meat odor that set the stage for the subtle smell of bile, feces, and blood. After this, I longed to smell the perfume of the Red Room in the bloodworks. I dashed into the open, foolhardy, but not as foolhardy as to try to endure that stench any longer. There was one of the stronger Daedra across the room, a dremora, and I caught its attention as I dashed past it. I tore up the spiked stairs and fleshy ramp to the upper level. I needed that Sigil stone. Quickly. I could hear its throaty screeches as I neared the top. It had to be right behind me.

But, then, I stopped. I vomited. I wasn't sure why at first, apart from the strong rank smell. It was a sack of flesh, a _breathing_ sack of flesh. Had it been human? I felt tears well up. It moved ever so slightly, though hung open on metal hooks, and I swore that I could almost hear it moan in pain. But, then, I found myself on the ground.

Disoriented, it took me a moment to get to my feet and stumble out of harm's way. The dremora had caught up with me, and had struck me from behind. My head was spinning and I was no where near where I needed to be to grab the Sigil now. I tried to fight my way back to the other side, knowing there was no way for me to kill this beast in my current state. All I had to do was snatch that burning stone from its pillar of flame and I could escape. I was lucky enough to evade the dremora's next blow and dashed to the stone. I immediately began to perspire when I neared it, and the flames desperately trying to lick my skin. I reached out for it and wailed in pain as the fire bit down hard on my skin. I latched onto the stone and pulled it back, out of the flames. It was as hot as scorched earth and I dropped it. My hands were bubbling up and cracking, bleeding from the intense heat. I cried and screamed. The world was coming down around me. I tried to run. I could feel my own flesh oozing; I screamed until my voice gave out. Everything cracking, bleeding, splitting, oozing. Then, all was black and quiet.

---

I could see light moving before my eyelids, but I could not open them. There was an intense pain as I tried to move my head. I couldn't cry out. Things grew dark again.

---

The light moved again. Now, I could open my eyes. There was someone kneeling over me. It was His Majesty. I have died. The world went black.

---

A hand was laid on me. My eyes flickered open. Things were blurry, then clear. Priests and parishioners stood over me. I was safe now. The gods had not forgotten their servant.

"It stirs."

_Wait. Tiber Septim had never been a Khajiit._

I sat up, furious. Well, I was furious, but I was still in such ill health that I couldn't keep my self upright long enough to protest. I pointed accusingly at the Khajiit in healer's clothes. His Majesty spoke again. He had a young voice. Told me to lay still. He said he will travel with me, as thanks, to the place I had told the Captain earlier. He knew the way. _Was I not dead?_ I acquiesced, but only able to voice it by murmuring. I could feel myself being moved. My skin no longer burned. It was a bumpy ride wherever I was off to.

---

There was war. There was yelling, the smell of blood, and angry voices. Worried voices. His Majesty was confused. Jauffre was there. He was upset. They moved me again. It grew cold.

---

It was so cold where I was now. I shivered. There were blankets, so I pulled them up around me. So cold. Where was I? My eyes opened and I slowly sat up. Things were okay now. The room was made of wood and it smelled faintly of oil. There wasn't much else here, but a line of empty bedrolls and armor strewn about. I had lost my coarse street linens, and they had been replaced with a dust-colored robe. No undergarments. My hair was everywhere. I must have been incapacitated for quite a long time as my golden hair no longer even held the soft waves that would have been left behind from the braided buns. All was quiet. Slowly, I made my way to my feet.

I stepped into the outdoors. It was bitter cold and snowing. _How had I gotten so far up north?_ The world was frozen. I pushed into the main hall of the building. There was a fire going, so it was warm here. My mind was still a bit numb, and my body, a bit stiff. I had trouble taking everything in. The ceilings were vaulted, with exposed beams, unlike any architecture I had seen. Standing before me in the main hall, clad in a clergyman's robes, was the Emperor. I fell to the ground out of respect, and due to the weakness that lingered in my knees.

"Your Majesty, I have failed you." I had not been dreaming; the Emperor was here before me_. I was dead. I was dead. I have failed._

"Stop that now, and stand," he said, in a firm yet somehow bewildered way. "It is I that should be kneeling before you." He helped me to my feet. He must have understood the confusion in my eyes, this man. "You're a hero, or shall I say, heroine."

My eyes brightened. I understood. This was not the younger, heavenly figure of Emperor Uriel, this was Martin. Brother Martin. Martin Septim. My Emperor. His Majesty.

I fell to my knees.


	4. Resolute

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Please leave some!

Chapter Summary:

Martin and Hetalia discuss business about spies and Daedra. Not fully grasping the task at hand, she commits herself to seeing this doomed mission through as an auxiliary operative.

* * *

"Go and get something to eat," Brother Martin, His Majesty, gestured to a doorway that led off to another wing of the fortress. "I'll be by shortly. I must speak with you about the gates."

_Gates? Were there more?_ All would be made clear in due time, however, and at the moment I was starving. With a reverent curtsey, I exited into the dining area.

There were soldiers, who I figured were Blades, everywhere. They were clad in the same shiny armor that Baurus and the rest had worn in the sub-terrain. I felt out of place in my worn robes and with my disheveled appearance. When I came in, some stopped and stared, and some commented on my finally moving about. It was a very awkward encounter. As I reached for some mutton and cheese, I looked warily at the lunching Blade, testing to see if I was welcome to this meal. He seemed to ignore my prescience, so not long after I found my way to a seat at a relatively empty table in the hall. The food was rather good, and tasted fresh. The meat was a bit rare for my taste, but I suppose it was more conducive to muscle building for these rather chiseled men and, to my surprise, women.

Not too much later, His Majesty slipped into the seat across from me.

"Well, then," he said, and folded his hands across the table.

I averted my eyes. "Your Majesty, you honor me."

"You really must stop that now. I am not your Emperor, and I am still wrestling with the idea of being more than a farmer's son, myself. To you I should be no more than a Priest of Akatosh, a humble servant. I have done no great deeds."

"Honored Brother, you are your father's son."

"I have not done anything worthy of you honor, my lady." He gently admonished. "Be at ease with me." I met his eyes. They were heavy with something urgent, yet he still wished to take part in pleasantries with me.

"Forgive me for delaying you. Please, tell me what you wanted to speak about." I stopped eating so that I might listen.

"Since the attack on Kvatch, gates have opened all over Tamriel. We have yet to be able to do anything about this, as you're the only one who possesses the knowledge of how to close these gates. As such, I'm very relieved that you are awake and appear to be in good health. It took myself and several other healers to mend the damage of the burns you sustained." I looked at my arm. My skin was slightly still pink as the tissue continued to heal. "Things have gotten worse than just the opening of these gates, however. The cult behind the Emperor…my father's… murder is called the Mythic Dawn, who worship Merhunes Dagon. While we were in Kvatch, they ransacked the Priory, and took the amulet from Jauffre." I had taken a bite, but now I couldn't swallow. _Took the amulet? I thought it had been well protected!_ "Baurus has been helpful enough to infiltrate their shrine and get the book we need to retrieve the amulet. However, in order to call up this portal to the place where we believe Mankar Camoran, the head of this cult, is hiding, we need a third party like yourself to go out and fetch some things. Jauffre won't allow any of the Blades to go out right now, for fear of attack on the temple."

"I see, Brother." I wondered what they expected me to fetch. I'm sure it was more than a quick run to the alchemist's shop. "What are these 'things'?"

"I have only deciphered a bit of the ritual required. You must have dealt with those Daedra quite well in the gate in order to close it. You have some knowledge of…such things?" His final question was a mix of emotions-- tense.

"I should say not! I serve the Nine!"

"You may still be able to help us." He seemed to relax. "A Daedric artifact is needed is all. I hear… Azura is easy to please."

"I see. This is all you require of me, then?"

Martin chuckled grimly. "You wish for more? Well then. Jauffre would have you dispose of some spies in Bruma, but I thought it best to let you regain your strength first."

"The great Bruma militia is no good for this? You would send me? A lone woman?" All these men, armored to the teeth in a fortress on a mountain and they'd rather send the peasant girl from the dampest squat in the whole country.

"Not I—Jauffre. He wants you for the job, I'm afraid. This is more than just a small city crime problem. If you need more information he would be the man to talk to. I'd release you from this obligation, but I believe Jauffre's trust is well-placed."

"It's fine, I'll go. When that is dealt with I will get that trinket for you as well. A service to my country, is it not?"

"And a favor that would not soon be forgotten." He had the language and manner of a priest, though his religious fervor did not come through in speech.

"Is there need for me to leave immediately?"

"Not necessarily, but the longer we stand idle, the stronger the weed will grow…" He seemed apprehensive to let me leave, as though he thought I was not competent. Perhaps I wasn't, but it was still insulting.

"Settled then. I leave as soon as my affairs are in order. Bruma is just down the mountain?" I would not hesitate and risk appearing uninterested, or worse—unpatriortic.

"Do not make too much haste, for it grows dark outside. When you do head out, your horse has been stabled in the courtyard."

"And arms?"

"I do not know very much of what lies in Bruma. Speak to Jauffre."

"You are a kind man, Martin. Mara keep you. Forgive me for being short with you. Off I go, then."

"I have suffered no offense." He said as I got up from the table and made my way back to the main hall. I continued to watch him while on my path to the door. Though not a zealot of the priesthood, he made a much better clergyman than an emperor, I thought, yet I will serve him as my emperor. When we return the amulet to the Dragonborn, this man will lead his country out of this darkness and into the light.


	5. Musings

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

**IN THIS CHAPTER, THE P.O.V. SWITCHES TO MARTIN.**

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Help me make a necklace!

Chapter Summary:

The girl has left to dispose of the spies. Martin reflects on his own incompetence, the behavior of others, and plugs up a plot hole or two. He makes some resolutions of his own. A short aside.

* * *

She left for Bruma more quickly than I had hoped. In the cover of night I was sure tracking these spies would be much easier, but on the way down to the city, highwaymen could easily lurk in the shadows. If only Jauffre hadn't allowed her to take the damned equipment from the Blades' armory she would have at least have needed to stay on the mountain until morning. In any case, the girl was still not in any condition to do battle or cast useful magic. All of her energy was being spent to heal the burns. _A wonder she survived at all. _My prayers, if I could muster up the faith to say any, were with her. The Nine had abandoned this country and this mission long ago, letting it be overrun by the Daedra. But that girl, Hetalia, she clung to her faith. Her name: I only heard Baurus say it once, for she had been indignant when they called her 'prisoner' and made sure to educate them. Any other Blade would have made short work of her had she spoken in that way.

I refrained from studying the Xarxes tonight, for I feared that it had begun to whittle away my willpower to resist the powerful magics it emanated. I couldn't allow myself to be seduced by its promise of power, but instead perhaps I would allow to be seduced by another. But what was so alluring about this girl from the south who fought to the near death for the love of her country and Emperor? Perhaps because she put more faith and value on me than I did. I fantasized it was out of care for me, but no, she was purer than I. She must be. What good of a priest am I? Before a white robe, I donned a black one. Before I healed, I conjured beasts and wraiths. I couldn't even heal that girl myself when the guard brought her out of the ash to the tent. It took myself, one other junior priest, and some layman healers to bring her back from the jaws of death, when if I had been pure of heart and full in my devotion to the Nine since my youth, I could have saved her myself.

On the other hand, Jauffre had little concern for the woman. He seemed to want to dry her up and then throw her away, sending her out on dangerous missions that would keep her away for a week at a time, instead of sending trained men. Perhaps he thought it was bad for morale to have an untrained woman, who also maybe could not be trusted, in a place like this. Being a monk for so long had no doubt turned him at least a bit sour towards women. I know in the time I have been celibate it has been quite a task after what I had known.

The night grew darker. The temple was quiet as I retired to my sleeping quarters. When past emperors had visited they had stayed in this same suite, furnished with ornate Akaviri furniture. I was living inside a piece of history, and I would never be as grand or illustrious as my, dare I say, predecessors had been. I didn't belong here. So what if I was the bastard son of Emperor Uriel? The rumored dragon blood was likely weak, such as I. I was a coward holed up in this well-guarded fortress with these undeserved guards, grandiose accommodations, and unearned honor. At the very least I could decipher these runes in Merhunes' tome, and provide any and all aid to this selfless woman who readily risks her life for us all. I can only hope that when it comes my time that I am able to rise to the occasion so that my name might be scrawled next to hers in the Book of Fate.


	6. Social Tensions

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Please leave some!

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia returns with the spies orders, revealing the plot of the opening of a great gate in Bruma. Battered and tired, she refuses to return to Bruma that night to warn the court. After a falling out with Jauffre, tensions continue to rise when Martin makes an unwelcome advance. In the morning, she heads out once again for Skingrad.

* * *

The helmet hit the floor. I let it. This fine mess I had agreed to. The Blades armor was chaffing on my shoulders. My hands were red, chapped, and burning. I stared at the shiny Daedric helm that rolled forward and back, settling on the floor.

"You've returned." It was Jauffre. He got up from the table across the room and made his way over to me. "Strange, usually the agents have only bound armor."

"You'll want this." I closed the distance between us and handed over the tiny scroll filled with heresy: the orders for the spies. He received it and congratulated me for having dispatched the women, but made no motion to open the scroll. "You ought to read it now." I supposed he could see that I was speaking through my teeth, my lips pressed into a straight line.

He looked at me hard for a moment and then unraveled the parchment. "By the gods, a great gate? In Bruma? I must alert the city guard. We'll all be on high alert."

"What is a great gate, Brother?" The term caught my interest and I momentarily forgot my anger. They often spoke in words I could not fully understand. I suppose they had gathered a lot of information while I had been out cold.

"It's the same kind of gate that was opened in Kvatch. I suspect they plan to use a siege crawler too, as they did before to break the city gates. We cannot allow this to happen. You must go warn the countess."

"You would have me go now?" I held up my hands, newly irritated.

"Are you not concerned with the safety of Bruma? If the Mythic Dawn succeeds in opening a great gate, there will be nothing we can do to save the city, much less the temple if the city falls!"

"Well, you are obviously not concerned with the condition of my palms."

"You put yourself before your Emperor and your country?"

"I do no such thing." I could feel fire welling up in my chest. With a little more provocation I would readily blow him away. I was in no mood to be belittled. Smoke and ash expelled from the last gate I closed still clung to the walls of my lungs, choking me. "Fine, I will go shortly, but know that I do not do this for _you_." I push past him, forgetting the helm, and rushed into the dining quarters.

"You created quite a stir." I spun around. It was Martin, sitting quietly, studying some books. I came over and sat across from him.

"You heard all that?" I coughed.

"I doubt there is anyone who did not."

"Jauffre fixes to kill me." As I began to fold my hands, I felt a surge of pain. The blisters that had formed on my fingers were very tender.

"No such thing." He turned a page. "He's simply a man carrying a lot of responsibility. Be patient with him. I want you to get along well. He will help you greatly before this is all over." He wasn't listening to me. His nose was in his book and he was ignoring me.

"Priest, do you not hear me? I have just returned and he would have me go back to Bruma in the dead of night!" I found myself having a small coughing fit.

"You have done it before. I do not see—"

"Do you see this?" I held up my palms.

"Dear. How did you manage that?"

"I closed another gate. I happened upon it while I was in search of the spies."

"Did Jauffre see this?"

"Held it right up to his nose. Do you see this cruelty?" I found myself pouting. Why was I doing such a thing? I immediately stopped it.

"You wear the armor; you serve the cause; he treats you as a Blade. He forgets that you are not." He placed down his book, took my hand and examined it. "I am surprised that this was all you suffered."

"Potion of Fire Shield from the Mage's Guild."

"You really must find another way to do this. Or at least if you intend to do this again, next time take along some gauntlets." He inspected one palm more thoroughly, then the other.

"I don't understand how placing metal over my skin then immersing it in fire will protect me." He let go and pushed my hands away in mock anger. We both smiled.

"Perhaps you should get some further training in Mysticism, then." He offered with a chuckle. "For now, I have a potion that should fix you up by morning. Then you can head out to the castle, if you'd like."

"Gee, now_ you_ are my taskmaster. You seem to be rising to meet your destiny, Brother."

He got up from the table. "For all intents and purposes, 'Martin' is just fine. Come now." He seemed quite at ease with me. Somehow, that actually unnerved me.

As we crossed into the main hall, Baurus looked up from the fireplace and gave a nod of greeting. He looked a bit smug, as though he too heard the altercation from earlier tonight. At the end of the west wing stood Cyrus. He always seemed to be standing at the door to the royal quarters. I barely ever saw him elsewhere. I gave him a polite smile and we went in through the open door into the suite.

"Here." Martin handed me a purple vial. "Drink this before you lay down. It's high quality. Make sure not to waste any."

"Thank you," I cleared my throat. "Martin."

"You were gone an awfully long time." He touched his palm to my cheek. I froze. _What was he doin_g_? He intended to create scandal!_ My mind went wild. "You had me worried." He tilted his head, and placed a kiss, like the brush of a feather, on my forehead.

"Your Majesty," I cleared my throat again, and I realized I had forgotten myself. "May the gods keep watch as you sleep," and tore out of the room. I could only imagine what Cyrus had thought.

---

I was feeling better in the morning, that was for certain, but the events of the previous night left me walking on eggshells. Everyone in the Blades sleeping quarters was dead asleep, but I could feel eyes on me. The main hall too was quiet. The change of the guard had evidently not happened yet. It was still rather early. Martin was not where he normally was, sitting on a bench with his nose in a book. He was no where to be found. Yet, the mess of books and parchment and quills were everywhere. The _Mysterium Xarxes_, the book he had been translating, was in the centre of the table. _What magic could be contained in this book?_ I felt the leather cover and all of its indents that spelled the embossed title. It had been described as an old book, ancient in fact, and yet it looked very well kept, almost new. It was such a perfect shade of tanned leather. And so smooth… _If I could just see inside. _With great care I began to lift the cover…

A hand came flying down on top of the cover. "By the Nine! Are you mad? Such a thing is dangerous even to handle and here you are doting on it!" I looked up, alarmed.

"Martin! I…"

He sighed, closed his eyes, and collected himself. "It's a powerful article of dark magic. I have some ways of protecting myself from its power. I limit my exposure when I can." He was patient. "Forgive me, but you on the other hand-- I don't want you in any danger." He dragged the book away from me on the table with the strength of his fingers.

"You protect yourself with your_ holy_ magic?" I placed the whole of my weight on one side. _What was he up to?_

"I have…some experience with these things."

"'Knowledge of such things', hm?"

"Well…"

"I am in need of clothes. I don't expect I should need to run around in mages robes from the days of Tiber Septim. Where are the clothes that I had before I arrived?"

The mood lightened. Maybe we would not have to address last night. I saw his lips part slightly before speaking, and instantly I could recall their feeling on my brow. "Those were beyond saving, I'm afraid. Caroline should have something to spare until you have the time to go purchase something in town."

"I plan to go to Skingrad, after stopping at the castle, of course. There are some alchemical ingredients I'm looking for." I found myself toying with the collar of my robe.

"Oh? What are you after?"

"B-Bolete caps. I figure I could use them with the Daedras' hearts I collected for some health potions. While I'm in the area, I'll see if I can turn up an artifact for you."

He sighed. "So I suppose you'll be gone for another long while."

"Perhaps…it is for the best." I could see he thought differently. In the silence of the room, his hand approached my face. His lips followed. _This is wrong. By the gods! _I shuddered and my eyes flew shut. I was as rigid as any pole as he pressed his gentle mouth to my strained face. _Please, what kind of unholy profanation are you pursuing?_ When he withdrew, we both took a moment, and when he looked as though he was trying to form words I chimed in, "Please do not exhaust yourself with your studies." _Perhaps he was going mad._


	7. The Blood Runs, Screaming 'Daedra'

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Please leave some!

Chapter Summary:

While on her way through the Nibenay Valley to Blackwood, on a contract for the Daedra Lord Sanguine, she fixes to visit Bravil when she finds a gate threatening her city. While inside she makes a gruesome discovery that sends her over the edge…and in Leyawiin, her suspicions of idiocy are confirmed while encountering Dar Jee.

* * *

Falanu, the owner of All Things Alchemical, had directed me to the Shrine of Sanguine while I was in Skingrad. Now, after making my offering, I was off to pay a visit to bourgeoisie of Leyawiin as per the Lord's request. I have no reserve for the pompous and heretical Daedra Lords but, Countess Alessia Caro, that wench, was having a dinner party for all of her close friends. _I despise Leyawiin and how they turn their noses down at us poor folk in Bravil. We would have the last laugh though as their town was already overrun with beastfolk. Especially the Argonians._

It had been so long since I had been to my hometown and I missed it so. I wanted to stop by and see Mother and S'Krivva while I was passing through. It seemed like a lifetime ago since I had seen them. I wondered if I would be welcome back in Bravil after the commotion that had gotten me locked up. In fact, I wouldn't be in this whole mess if our own jails were not filled to the brim by the wet-behind-the-ears guards who imprisoned everyone for Skooma eating.

I could see Bravil over the hills that stretched out before me, and my heart leapt for joy. I forced my poor nag to speed up so that I might reach her great gates sooner. Then, the sky became turbid and dark. _Oh, no. Not here. Not another gate!_ The guards posted at the city gates seemed frantic, having heard of but never seeing an Oblivion gate before. I knew what I must do, as an act of love.

Inside the gate it was like any other: fiery, hot, and dead. The spires stabbed into the sky and veins of lightening began to throb. I did not want to be here, that much I knew already. I knew what to expect around every corner, in every lesser citadel. I knew how to trick the stupider Daedra, and subdue the more substantial ones. If you could shock them, the battle was already won. Although I knew what beasts of debauchery I would encounter and where, I would be continually surprised by some of the lesser details. Each plane had its own nauseous stench and grotesque furnishings. Sometimes it was charred bodies; other times, "punished" creatures. This time, I feared it would be something much worse.

My hands were white, exhibiting their usual milky pallor, and it contrasted greatly with the palette of the realm. Only small scars, like tiny feather pillows remained scattered about on the backs of my hands. Although I despised this place, it gave me an appreciation for the life that lay back in Cyrodiil. _The trees, the statues, the fools that would risk their station for… _I digress.

The landscape was twisted and smoky but not unnavigatible. One damned clannfear had been following me for over a quarter of a mile after scratching me nastily, now afraid to come at me head on, but still thirsting for my blood. _Quite annoying. _With a point of my finger, the creature ran out from behind a jagged stone, screeching as though its own brain were clawing at its skull from the inside. With outstretched fingers I sent volts of lighting through its reptilian flesh. It couldn't even cry out anymore. When I clenched my fist, it fell down dead. It was a feeling of success.

I turned around to stare a lesser citadel in the face. It was one like I had seen before: quiet, save for scamps, who cackled on the upper floors. They did not immediately see me as I entered for they were playing with a spike lift as it came up and down. At first, I thought they were firing at me, shooting flares in my direction that instead landed on the bone crusher. With each shot, the metal blushed orange for a brief moment. The machine creaked as it slowly descended onto the spikes at the base until it finally came to a rest.

_Mother?_

_No. No, it couldn't be. There must be some mistake—by the Nine there must be some mistake! It was a cruel mind trick on the part of some Dremora mage being orchestrated from up above. This was not my mother who lay skewered atop one of these spikes. No, no, it was. One would think she was burned beyond all recognition,… but no. Mother… my dear, dear, mother. _I cooed as I patted her face gently. Suddenly I found myself screaming, my hands tearing wildly at my hair. The scamps came to my side almost immediately. They heard me call them. They heard me call for bloody retribution.

_What have they done? Degradation beyond what any man could have done._ Her mouth had been gaping open, her eyes had a milky cooked look to them. There were no more words.

There was only blood, and blood, and blood.

It was everywhere. I could taste it as some splashed up into my face. The air was red. I sundered the very ground in which I stood. _Mother, stand back, I don't want you to be caught in the fray._ I ate their souls with my magic.

I ate them like a glutton, swallowing up all who I came to as I near tore a rift in this world on my way to the Sigil. They would pay, they would pay. I would burn the bloody place down just like all the others. The Brooding Fortress—this was it. I cast again a shield and some strong fire protection before entering, and when I did, I near tore all inside to shreds. The halls were no matter. The Dremoras I swallowed up in rocks. After the ones the colors of the sea were stuffed, I ate the beasts with the pretty black ones. At the Sigil stone I flung myself forward into the flames, reeling down off of the balcony and into the fire.

When I reached the ground I was cradled in a soft bed of grass. Birds sang.

---

I made it to Leyawiin eventually, taking my time to recover in the forests along the way. I didn't have the heart after that to go into Bravil. I could only see the death and emptiness that had been created. The world was red. My eyes felt bruised and dark. I made not a sound on the way. I felt so alone. I hadn't the strength to be actively enraged any longer.

I kept to myself as I entered the gate in Leyawiin. All I wanted to do was leave the county but I couldn't without performing my duty. Otherwise I might find myself back here. I never wanted to come back. As I made my way to the castle, I was approached by an Argonian.

"Hey! I'm a Khajiit in disguise. Want to see me lick my butt?" I could feel my very soul detach from my physical form and drop off. I stared, dumbfounded, then attempted to walk away.

"Wait, I have this joke, want to hear it?" He didn't wait for my answer. "Where is the best place for a hard drink in Bravil? The chapel!"

With one hard clout across the face he was on the ground. _Filthy dogs. I hope the Daedra come for this blasted town next._ I heard someone yell 'assault!' and I fled the scene for the castle.


	8. With Its Dying Breath It Cries 'Treason'

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought. By this point in time, madness is beginning to take hold on her. If something seems out of character, it is most likely due to her constantly changing and deteriorating mental state.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Please leave some!

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia returns with the Sanguine Rose, much to Martin's dismay. When simple reflection turns to admonition for her choice, the conversation becomes an altercation. Later in the armory, Martin learns that Hetalia is exhibiting signs of soul sickness and the Priest, Novice of Restoration (as per CS), tries to heal her the only way he can fathom. **--Mature, yet not necessarily graphic sexual content.--**

* * *

"I see my words fell on deaf ears." Martin jumped in his seat. He was nearly just as I had left him. "Oh, there you go."

"By the Nine, what's happened to you? Your eyes: they grow dark." He looked at me intensely. "What have you seen out there?"

"I have a present for you." I tilted the Sanguine Rose in Martin's direction for his taking. He looked strangely at it. Did this displease him? Secretly, I longed desperately to feel secure.

"I never thought I'd see this again. I've held it in my hands before, briefly, like a fleeting dream…" He mused, and then took it from me. "…that led ultimately into a nightmare." _Again? _That jolted me. What was wrong? Sanguine, though given his nature, had been rather jovial and courteous. All of his followers, though not without their lecherous ways, were neither dangerous nor frightening people. In any case, what did a priest know of such things? He was no exorcist by trade, and would have no occasion to possess such an object.

"What is your meaning, Martin?" Curious, I brought my face closer to his, making him suddenly uncomfortable.

"I can say no more. Only that I pray you do not continue your service to the Prince Sanguine, nor do I wish to know the means you took to obtain such an artifact."

_ I must know what he is hiding._ _You should not try to protect my innocence, for after all that I have seen, it is gone._ "What do you offer to dissuade me? Simply an empty plead? Be frank with me, Priest, for I have not seen an occasion to fear. The Prince was rather amicable and enjoyed my company and service. He invited me to sometime serve him yet again and find pleasure in the company of his followers."

"I fear for you because I too had fallen into service to the Lord of Debauchery. His service fed my body, but it drained my soul. Through wanton pursuits my own friends drank themselves to death or worse. And you threaten me thusly?" His voice had gained intensity with every sentence.

"What authority do you plan to exercise over me?"

"I am your Emperor." He stood up from his chair, his jaw tight.

"You are—at most—_de facto_ Emperor," I scoffed. "And you are not a priest, you are a conjurer!" My vision blurred; there were tears. "I see it in your actions. You have not laid your hands on me for healing; you do not pray to your gods—the gods that have forgotten us! Your holy script is that damned _Xarxes_ from which I will never separate you. You keep it from me! You have the behaviour of a cultist! I know those like you!" By the time I finished I had run out of breath and I hiccupped through my tears.

"You know nothing! I was a fool in my youth and I will not deny it, but I have since risen above such things. The darkness now comes for you and if you will have it, it will have you."

"Who are you, he who doubts the very gods he serves?"

"I am not alone in this." He eyed me, his countenance merely an array of lines from anger.

_Was he referring to me? _I was alone in this room. It was empty. I felt like I had no soul. My mother gone, unable to return home for fear of pain, and now a man who had shown me kindness I had turned against me. The gods were not in this room, and now neither was I.

---

I was a miserable wretch holing myself up in the armory, staring into the kindling fire in the blacksmith's pit. If I had anywhere else to return to other than the Temple, I would have went there straight away before ever returning to this place after this trip. My life had been happy before all of this. The Blades, and the Emperor, and the Mythic Dawn, and the Nine all tore my life down like old tapestries. The fire was dancing now. My heart was too weary to even end it all. I wanted the touch of someone so that I might push them away. I wanted to be swallowed up in one of my stones so that I might be reanimated to be as grotesque as my heart had become. I was plainly miserable.

It was that man's fault. The way he distracted me with his humility and speech, he made me think on him when he was not with me. He gave me sin. _To think of a priest, how absurd._

There was a creaking sound in the eastern part of the room. _Who would be coming in here now?_ I wiped the tears from my face with haste and sniffled. I straightened my skirt. I refused to turn around. There was a sound of something wooden being placed down on the armory table, but I made no motion to move. There was a presence behind me. _Friend or foe, take me now and end this._

"What illness plagues your heart and causes your unhappiness?" It was _him._ His voice was soft.

I said nothing.

"I pray you; tell me so that I might heal it."

"Dagon has claimed my mother." There was a long silence. "Her eyes gazed back at me, empty, and in that emptiness, I saw myself be sucked in."

He laid a hand on my shoulder. I shuddered at his touch, but did not remove him. As I figured, he had nothing to offer. There _was _nothing to offer.

"These gates have spawned this darkness in your heart. With each one you destroy, the flames lick away at your soul. They cause your madness. How could this not have been expected? They destroy you, and I ignore your bleeding while you cry out to me." I craned my neck away from him as he came to stand in front of me and tried to meet my eyes. "They were wrong to send you here to do this. You only want to be a woman, and a woman you should be. Men should court you and give you gifts, and tell you grand tales of their exploits. You should not be the one adventuring out. You are built for something more complicated. The game of war_ ought_ to drive you mad in its simplicity and stupidity."

_Flattery. _I took a tremulous breath, and further moved my face away from his.

"Perhaps this is the punishment from the heavens for my sin long ago, by pouring poison onto this flower."

"Do not entertain the idea that my state is punishment for your trespasses! You insult me and degrade my suffering."

"Forgive me." He turned my face to him by the chin. I was vulnerable, and he must have known it. "I only wish to make amends." I turned my head in time to foul his advance. Instead, his lips caressed the crook of my mouth. My hands began to tremble. He pulled back and stared at me for a long moment in the dwindling firelight. He leaned in and caressed my cheek and neck, but I was stone. A tremulous stone. A tuft of Martin's hair brushed across my face and I found myself let out a gasp. _Such tenderness._

He pulled me into his embrace and I knew what was coming. _You cause me sin._ He pushed me up onto the table, displacing all that had been resting there. Everything clanged to the floor, including the Rose. He pushed his lips up against mine and they bent to him. Even though I had denied him, he was my Emperor. Even if I found my way to Akavir, he would still be my Emperor. Something wanted to come alive in me, but couldn't. He pushed my skirt above my thighs. _The gods forgive you for what you do_

In one fell swoop, I was his. Martin pulled his face slightly backwards, away from me, eyes closed for a moment, pausing, almost as though he were collecting an old memory. My breathing hastened. I didn't want fight or struggle, but I did not desire him. When I struggled it had brought me nothing. I only feared the humiliation.

If I cared I would have cried, because I felt like I was incapable of love now. I never had the luck of having loved the men that made love to me, so what was one more? In this world, it happened all the time. I was no true woman of god. This man was neither a man of god. He straightened me up and pushed in deeper. This man, though, _was _different from the others.

He was a careful lover, supporting my weight so that I would not have to stare at the ceiling. He took his time with me, although I largely remained unmoved by this rhythm. I lied for him a few times, but others I took breath so sharply I near startled myself. His eyes held an intensity of something I had not seen before, and as strange as it was, I could not force myself to think on it. I embraced him in compassion and sorrow; sympathy for his troubled mind, and sadness in that I could not care for him enough.

He made me feel worse: guilty. I had let him have me on this wooden table in this dank room, and as selfish as the act seemed, I believed he did it in an act of selflessness. I hoped he did not expect my love. Sweat droplets gathered on his brow. My breasts jiggled gently under my blouse. I could hear slow footsteps overhead. It was as though he pushed my mind out of my body as he pushed himself inside me. My head was everywhere but here as we rocked to and fro amidst a sea of shuddering breathing.


	9. Waiting

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Help me make a necklace!

Chapter Summary:

The morning after, Hetalia keeps to herself to avoid Martin. It doesn't work for long, however. They speak, and several things are solicited.

**--Mature, yet not necessarily graphic sexual content.--**

* * *

The following morning I resolved to see no one. I spent much of the day in the armory, despite what had occurred there the night before. It was the only place of relative quiet and the only visitor I had was Ferrum, who hacked away at the wooden dummy all day without a word. He was Breton, like myself, and if I had cared for conversation, I would have loved to talk with him. He was here all day and near all night. As such, I figured he did not know much of the local goings on or the bad blood that had been created between myself and the Blades' master.

I busied myself mostly with polishing and sharpening the Akaviri swords, but in no way did I intend to use them. I would not go out again for some time. Come hell, which was a possibility, or high water, I would not do the Blades' bidding again until another made a move in the direction of salvation for this country. It was not my responsibility to rescue the entire land from the ravenous beasts that tried to swallow up the continent. I had only agreed to take the amulet to Jauffre. _Now, where was the amulet even? On the neck of some beast on a throne in Oblivion? That was certainly not my doing._

I hadn't taken anything to eat down in the armory, so I had to show my face in the dining quarters sometime in the evening. Caroline was chattering with Baragon, who I could see plainly had no interest in the conversation. Maybe all Bretons were born under some foolish star that made them aspire to serve the empire. I ate quickly and quietly, before stealing away into the armory again. I could feel their eyes on me, watching me, and I couldn't stand to be there any longer. Then again, maybe it was only a soul sickness rising up in me. I took the long way around the temple, going outside, making sure I would not cross into the main hall, for fear of encountering _him._ In such an event, I was not sure what I would do.

I had the aching suspicion that I shouldn't, but I went into the upstairs sleeping quarters to speak with Jauffre. I wasn't sure why I wanted to approach him, but I felt I should. Perhaps they had learned something new. I raised my hand to knock on the door.

"Might I have a word with you?" I spun around. Who was this? _Oh._ I nodded my head, uncomfortable, but nudging him along. "In private." I felt electric. My whole body tightened. I wasn't prepared for this, but I wasn't being invited, but drawn in. I looked sideways at Cyrus, who stared blankly ahead, politely pretending not to see. He was no fool. Martin gestured for me to enter his private quarters ahead of him. I did so without emotion, attempting to feign business. Sleeping quarters such as this would not be used for any business other than bedding me. I would not. I would cut off his hand should he think to touch me with it.

Behind him he slid the door shut, and I could hear Cyrus clear his throat from the other side.

"Yes?" I stared at Martin's eyes, without really looking at them.

"What illness wrecks your soul? With each day you drift further from this world." He reached out to me, closing the distance between us-- a blessed barrier I would not soon let be diminished again.

"Do not!" I withdrew, stepping back. In reaction, his brow came down hard over his eyes. His arm swung from before him to the side, gesturing toward a bench behind him.

"Sit then, so that I might speak with you." Martin's words were careful, as though he was not sure of what he was seeing. I've encountered those of other species that have responded to me with more tact than this man. I crossed the room into the seat, which I found to be rather uncomfortable. I placed my arm on the rest and threw all of my weight onto that one side and tried to look intrigued.

"Well then?" I lifted my eyebrows, trying to appear interested and alive. The bloody truth was that I couldn't care either way. There were katanas to be sharpened. He took a deep breath of air and seated himself next to me, which was nearly too close for comfort on this tiny thing.

"I have news, that I would have relayed to you earlier had you wanted to be seen. I thought I would let you have your time."

"What is this news?" My voice was a deliberate monotone while I glanced at my hands. I hoped it would breed his own disinterest.

"I have made further progress with the _Xarxes_, at long last. Tiber Septim was the only one of the gods to have walked Nirn, and now we need his blood for the ritual."

"And how do you propose I obtain that? Are there not little relics of such nature? A relic of Talos-- you're absurd."

"There is an old Blades' fort; the sacred place is cursed now, but it is believed to hold the armor of Tiber Septim."

"Cursed, is it? Is that why you would propose that I go to liberate it?" I was getting annoyed.

"I am not proposing anything, for I hold no reserve. I am only reporting my information. You have worked so closely with all here that I felt I should inform you of any changes or advancements."

"You ought to send a troupe of Blades. It is their stronghold, after all. But, no, I expect you would be most pleased to have me set out in the morning?"

"I would rather you did not go at'all." He drew his face in towards me and gingerly cupped my shoulders with his palms. _I ought to rend your flesh for laying your hands on me!_ "Do not fear, the gods do not have hold on me. I have long since been disillusioned."

"Lies!" I reeled backwards, nearly toppling over the side of the bench. "Lies, priest! Akatosh will swallow your soul and the end of your days for you lies! Sanguine will shun you for denying him! You will rot in the Void!" _Why did his trespasses upset me so?_ The desires of men were no stranger to me, but this time, somehow this would amount to treason. _He had no business with me, bottom-of-the-barrel refuse of the land. A priest! A priest! Servant of the Nine! Heir to the throne! This was nothing less than divine treachery._

But his hands were on me. I moved where he directed me: to the softness of the mattress, into the center. I was hardly in command of my own body.

"Stop this… this… madness," I pleaded as he ravished me. I couldn't breathe. I placed my palms on his chest and tried to push him away from me. I felt weak. I was weak. I was being sucked under.

"If you wished it so, you would tear my body up, or summon some other denizen to do it. But you do not. Our desires are in harmony." _Fie on you! Fie! Fie! Fie! I will not recognize such a thing!_

"Where do you expect this to lead?" I offered instead, breathless and bitter. My breasts were exposed this time, and my skirt, entirely elsewhere. He ignored me. _Oh, just forget it! _I let myself be taken in. I cried out before he relaxed on top of me, the life seeming to go out of him.

---

I felt like a sack of bones on the down mattress next to him, lying on my side, facing away. He laid a hand on my shoulder. I exhaled sharply. _Hadn't he done enough?_

"You think you can heal me through putting me at odds with my gods."

"For you, they are your gods in name only." He gave my shoulder a squeeze with his response.

"Then, you put yourself at odds with both me and your gods."

"I do this for you, out of love."

"Do not lie. I am only a sack of pleasure for you. You aim to destroy my life." I rolled over to face him, staring hard.

"I do no such thing." He stroked my cheek with a gentle finger. "For now, we'll remain here, and I'll look after you, but when the crisis is over, things will improve and—"

"And you'll be emperor." He got my meaning, and dropped his gaze from my eyes. I withdrew my own face, which had nearly been touching his as I had spoken. I continued, "Where you'll be advised to take a queen, a noble lady, given the delicate situation of the heirs. It is enough that _you _are a bastard, the Chancellor would not allow you to further sully your bloodline. Do not be a fool: any child of mine would have blood too weak to even _wear _the Amulet." He let it drop at that. I suppose he had come to the realization that his involvement with me would never reach fruition. He seemed angry though, his pride hurt, but he said nothing for a while. "You waste your time, regardless. I will never know your love."

"But you have all my love."

"It cannot reach me." It was as though there was a wall between us, protecting me and hurting me. I did not care any longer for such things: the pursuit of romance. The feeling was lost to me. There was no pleasure there. There was no god in it. I got up from the bed, naked. I reached down for my blouse, when I felt him clench my wrist.

"At least stay a while longer. 'Til dawn."

"You resolve to ruin yourself." I pulled my arm from his grasp. "Good evening." I pulled on my skirt and blouse, took my shoes in my hands and took my leave. Again, Cyrus pretended to not have noticed.

In the Blades' sleeping quarters everyone was fast asleep. I unlocked and disarmed my trapped chest at the head of my bedroll. Inside, the gems glistened of their own accord; the black ones laced with golden veins were especially pretty. They would be my ticket out of here, at nearly one thousand gold apiece. A new steed and a house on the Niben were in order after that. I only needed someone to unload them on who was willing to pay the hefty price. There were drifters all the time in Bravil, but initially I required a closer merchant. Given, inside there were no prestigious souls or souls killed in cold blood. Either they were Dremora or marauders that I had happened upon. I had an easy fifteen, though, and that should be enough to get me started. I closed the lid gently, with the kind of affection in my eyes reserved for one's children. _Children. _I placed a hand over my womb. _Perish the thought._


	10. Ill

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Help me make a necklace!

Chapter Summary:

A trip to the Chapel of Talos, for an unexpected diagnosis. Will a cure help any? And no, Hetalia is not having an Ally McBeal moment; this isn't her maternal lock ticking; she's only losing her mind. She later decides to go to with the Blades to Blackwood for a powwow with the local guards.

* * *

This morning I was in the chapel in Bruma. I had left the temple before anyone had awoken. I was actually becoming quite adept at that. Light filtered through the shiny stained glass on the pew in which I sat. I inched myself away from the imposing light for fear it might burn me. My, I was in such a state from sitting here all morning. I had come for a blessing and some prayer, but I found when I arrived it took me much of the morning to remember why I had even made the trip. The priests of the chapel looked at my strangely with their pious eyes. _Had they not seen a woman spend her day in quiet reflection before?_ Perhaps citizens of Bruma had no need for the Nine or prayer. I wrung my hands in the pew. I was sure the blood would start to flow any time now. My, you would think my hands were as dry as hay. _Why would they not produce the damned liquid?_ They would never dry at this rate if I could not get the liquid out. Something touched me.

"Ma'am, have you come to seek healing?" It was a Reguard.

"You the Bladesmaster?"

"No, I'm Cirroc. Just the healer, but I can help you."

"Your altar's broken. Or Talos is out lunching! Damned thing doesn't work."

"If the altar refuses you healing, I believe it is due to something needing to be mended within. You've upset the gods somehow."

"Nonesense!"

"Would you like to try again, Ma'am?"

"Oh, no. I cannot be bothered. I'll just sit here."

"I really shouldn't do this… I haven't seen a case like this in a while. Have you been chasing after any zombies?" Cirroc felt my temples and I squirmed.

"Aye, perhaps a fortnight or so ago. What is this about?"

"The gods won't heal you but I feel bad to leave you this way." He waved his hands, weaving some spell. I shrieked and covered my face with my hands. "Not much worry if you don't run about in the ruins, but it's still only a simple disease. You should feel better."

"You think I have Collywobbles?"

"No, ma'am. Serpiginous Dementia. Makes you sick as a dog and you don't even know it. Give it a few moments before you get up. Disease of the mind takes some time longer to heal."

In a short time I found myself able to restrain myself from wringing my hands, but the fear of the world around me never dissipated and before long I found it difficult to remain seated. I found myself pacing, rearranging the candles and offerings around the altar. There was this babe, his image following me all about the hall. There, then, gone. Completely stoic; just staring dead at me. I tried to leave, but I could not bring myself to open the door. If I went outside he would surely get me, this child. He was surely a Septim baby with those blue eyes, but whose? For fear of my life, I remained in the Chapel all day.

---

Martin was here. I was back in the temple. No, there was no Chapel in the temple. He had come to the Chapel, yes. I took a deep breath. My mind was going to pot.

"You worry me so when you leave like that. I feared you had left for Sancre Tor. You said you intended to go this week."

"I did?" He helped me up from the pew.

"You seem quite well today. Have you received healing?" I eyed the altar at the far end of the chapel. The ghost baby looked up from the centre.

"Yes." Frightening, but what a beautiful baby boy. He had eyes like his daddy, Martin's shade of chestnut hair... A striking resemblance, really. I grasped my belly. _Oh. Oh, no. No, no. _I was fervently shaking my head. Martin looked at me oddly.

"We've sent Baurus and a troupe of three others to Sancre Tor in your place. Jauffre knew you weren't feeling up to it."

"No, you insisted that he not send me on grounds that you have taken me as mistress! You demanded that he mustn't! I heard!" He cupped his hand over my mouth, and I looked around seeing several faithful turn their heads to peek at us near the doors. I was indignant. He pulled me out of the chapel. I clung to his robe for dear life.

"You treat me as though I am a child. To what end?"

"Ah, then I see you truly have made improvement. Glad to see that you are once again with us. We're on our way back to Cloud Ruler now, and I want you to get a lot of rest. In the morning, you and Baragon are off to the Niben and Blackwood."

"For what?" We had reached the stables. He had me ride behind him, clinging to his waist.

"With the volume of gates that have been opening recently, there is no way possible to send one person to close them all. So, through consensus we have resolved that you should be chaperoned to the major cities to inform the guards about the operation of these gates."

"Should the gates not have destroyed the land by now? It has been a while since I have had the pleasure." In fact it had been quite a while since I had stepped inside a gate. Bravil's had been my last. The child was now in a tree. Dear gods, what sorcery had this "healer" cast upon me?

"These gates are rather inactive. Probably opened by junior members of the Dawn. They are more of a nuisance than threat, provided no one wanders in." _Mother._ I didn't want to go down to that part of the country again. There was a twinge of pain in my heart. I feared it would have been too much to bear. "What do you think?"

I took another long moment to ponder the idea. Martin was starting to grow on me, but I feared it had only been due to my illness. _The last time I go searching for Welkynd stones. _Was there anything else left for me in Bravil that I would wish to return to? I thought long and hard. We were almost near the temple now. _Oh! The Bravil fences!_ The shady fellows that hang about the docks! I could sell my gems while I was in the area.

"It sounds like a wonderful idea." I said as we walked up the steps. I must have taken too long to think on it because I had to remind him of what I was agreeing to.

---

It was late after mealtime and I was still in the dining quarters. I could not bring myself to eat with the phantom child looking on. I said not a word to the Blades around me at the height of the hour, but only stared sharply at the infant who was in everyplace at once. There were only a few of us left here now and there were a handful of polite exchanges going on in the background. It all seemed to run together as I tried to block out the image of the baby as I ate. The sounds grew louder and louder. The child grew bolder, coming right before my eyes and blinking threateningly.

"Stop it, stop it. Away with you…!" I was trying to keep my voice down as to not draw suspicion. "Away! Away!" I shooed it. It only grew bolder. It lay now on the table next to me, its head cocked to the side and softly cooing, but without movement. The menacing beast! The cooing became louder and louder until it blocked out the now booming conversations of the Blades behind me. There was a smith's hammer that had been abandoned on the tabletop. _This is my chance! This damned child will haunt me no further! _I rose to my feet and lifted the hammer over my head. With one quick movement, I tenderized the demon child. Blood spurted everywhere. My hands were a mess. _Dear gods…_ I brought my hands up to my face. They were trembling. I covered my gaping mouth. _What have I done?_

Ferrum's head appeared over my shoulder. "It's about time we cut up that watermelon. Good going!" I tore out of the hall, covered in juice.

Needless to say, the child molested me no more.

---

With the excuse of needing to gather my strength, I scooted off to the soldiers' sleeping quarters before Martin had an opportunity to deter me. He'd insist I stay in his suite if he could catch me. And in the morning, when he would think I had slept in, I would hear Jauffre, stepping beyond his station and admonishing Martin for bedding yet again the 'harlot usurper that would destroy him before he could ascend the throne.' I had no opinion. I desired not for the throne, and not for this man's heart. T'would only slip through my fingers like ectoplasm if I had sought it. He was a fool who thought with something other than his pride, and whatever lot it led him to, I could only hope he would be happy he had chosen it when all was done.

It wouldn't be much longer before I could send my pretty black piggies to market. They hummed to me in the silence of the room, cradled in the wooden chest. The enchantments I placed on it swaddled them like a blanket. They would be safe until morning. I lay down to sleep, not without the fear of dreams.


	11. Passing the Torch Spills Embers

Author's Notes:

Life has been difficult lately, and it has been hard to get to writing. However, no review goes unrewarded, so here's a new chapter, and more to come! No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Help me make a necklace!

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia departs from Martin on a bad note. Escorted by the Blades, she makes her way to Blackwood and beyond to train the guards in the surrounding cities. With hands on training beginning in the morning, Hetalia paddles off to the other side of the bay to pawn off her store of black soul gems, when she notices a strange blue light on the river.

* * *

It was morning, and there was a fuss all about the temple. We would be leaving shortly, and as a nice change of pace, much of the temple was seeing our troupe off. It seemed that everything was different now that the Blades were getting "officially" involved. Maybe for once they feared for my safety. Or, perhaps more accurately, they feared for the safety of those I was sent to instruct. I heard Jauffre whisper that I was unstable. He was a fool, and an old man. I was glad to have him staying behind.

The majority of the men were already outside. I was left with few others, collecting the last of my belongings, carefully and discreetly packing my gems away into my rucksack. I wouldn't want them falling out in transit. Martin entered the room, and I quickly flipped the leather flap over the bag.

"'Morning to you." He seemed to be in a rather good mood today. Perhaps he was actually happy to have me going off again. "It is truly a shame that you must depart now. You waste the beautiful day."

"Hardly. I will be enjoying all of Dibella's beauty in the world on my way."

"Oh, but you misunderstand," he knelt down and cupped my chin in his hand. I recoiled, standing up and slinging my rucksack over my shoulder.

"I understand _perfectly_ well. I must be going. They're waiting for me outside."

"Only but a moment more. I must say goodbye." He stood as well.

I stared him in the eyes, "Goodbye, Martin," and tried to tear myself away from him. This would end here. This had to end here. _Enough._

Something jingled and fell to the floor. It sounded like crystals pinging against one another. _Damn it all!_ He had caused my gems to jostle themselves out of my bag. I tried quickly to collect them, but it was too late.

"What is this?" His voice was serious. He held it in his hand for a brief moment, but soon let it drop back to the floor, realizing he did not wish to hold it. "What do you have here? This—This is necromancy, have you no idea? What do you plan to do with these?" It was as though he were not even asking me questions. He only glared at me with fire in his eyes. He wasn't looking for an answer from me; he knew what he would hear.

"They are nothing." I picked them up from the floor and tucked them back away.

"Then why hide them? Do you understand what it is that you do? Even I knew more than to toy with such dangerous magic!"

"They are none of your concern," I emphasized. They truly weren't. It was only the souls of Dremora and bandits within, but why couldn't I just say so? "I am taking my leave of you." I pushed past him.

"Your soul is heavy with the burden of black magic. You are becoming no better than the evil you fight!"

"A grape vine can only grow with the light of experience. My leaves have long since choked out your sunlight. It is not my fault that the sun is hot and my vine has grown twisted."

"I will not welcome you when you return." I wouldn't forget that. I wouldn't let him forget it, either.

"Then I shan't return."

I saddled my horse with haste and thundered out of the complex. Sometime later I looked over my shoulder to see the small company of mounted Blades somewhere in the distance. They would catch up soon enough, and I knew the way.

He had terrible nerve to address me in the way he did. If he were not of the ignorant sort, he would not have jumped to conclusions, I was sure. He was a fool old man, too. An old man who thought he could use his newfound position to have a young thing like me warm his bed. Under the guise of love he tried to seduce me, that serpent, masquerading as the Dragonborn. He would love me and leave me like all the rest. Who were they to think me mad? I knew the score.

We were somewhere on the Red Ring Road when I saw signs that my companions were hoping to camp. We had made such great progress in this one day, much due to my own haste, and I decided setting up camp was a good idea. We would reach the Silverfish River by the early afternoon and then we could begin instruction. Once a campfire was set and we all began to gather 'round it, I looked to the Blade at my side.

"Baragon, why have you joined the Blades? Surely a Breton is more suited towards magical pursuits."

He took a brief moment to remove his helmet and place it next to him on the log. "For Bretons, magic is a blessing, not a right, as it turns out. I hear you have been blessed. As for myself, I have never been very skilled in magics, and I spend much of my free time reading, trying to improve."

"This is the reason for which you ignore all when you are at your leisure?"

"I take my studies very seriously," he answered with a nod.

"I hope it turns out well for you," I added, empty of intention, and let my chin rest on my hands.

We had brought along some salted meats and prepared breads that made for a fine supper. At the meal, we drank ale from a few bottles that we shared amongst our quartet. There was such a great amount of fraternity between these men. Even the few women who served, though not with us now, had strong bonds to the group. I had never belonged to anything I had felt strongly about, and seeing such devotion amongst the soldiers made me nearly ill with jealousy.

---

We were almost to the river. We would be meeting the city guards of Bravil and Leyawiin there. Apparently, they had been having trouble with gates cropping up across the Niben, and wanted to rid themselves of them before they could threaten the counties across the way. In the forests along the valley was the safest place for them to perfect their gate tactics, I suppose.

It was just about high noon as we pulled up to the encampment. There was already a fire going and food being prepared. The aroma was torture for my aching stomach. We had started off in the morning without breakfast. We combined whatever we had brought along with the fresh ingredients that had been farmed locally, and together county troops of Bravil, Leyawiin, the royal Bruma Blades, and I sat down for a hearty lunch.

We did not mix business with pleasure around the fire. They mostly talked of themselves, the political antics of their respective counts and countesses, and how Countess Caro's dinner party had turned disaster some time ago. I merely smiled to myself, but at length, said nothing. I saw some familiar faces around the fire: fellows of the Bravil militia and the formal guard. They didn't seem to recognize me, however. I rubbed the dark patches around my eyes. _Had I really changed so much that I was unrecognizable?_

The time came for training. T'was not really formal training with sparring, targets, and whatnot. I merely regurgitated my experience, and watched their eyes widen at the gruesome details.

"All of these Daedra seem to be very sensitive to shock," I went on. "Therefore, if you have any access to enchanting, or if you can commission the Mage's Guild to help you, I suggest you have your broadswords enchanted. Protection against fire, I'm sure you can imagine is important within these gates. Even the scamps use such attacks." I paced back and forth, surveying the men lined up before me. I felt so powerful. If it were not for the Blades relaxing in the background, simply looking interested, I would have felt as though I could have raised my own army. And in the same breath—_I could destroy them. _"There are many citadels on these planes. The one you are looking for is alight with a beam of fire. Therein lays the Sigil stone, in the uppermost chamber, which anchors the gate to Nirn. Take great care," I held up my hands, exposing my scars, "when removing the stone, for it will melt your flesh."

Their eyes widened. _Had they not noticed the wide, pale puffs of skin?_ Perhaps they were simply surprised to see a woman scarred so, and that was all. "Do not look so pitiful," I continued. "You are trained men. I am, but a woman; a mongrel dog of the Empire." One of the Blades gave me a sharp look of warning. "Perhaps the environment will take better to you, and your soul will not suffer the scars of battle! Take heart, for your women, your children lie within these walls across the bay. If you fail, you damn them all! Do I have questions?" I shouted, riling myself up.

"Mi'lady," one Leyawiin guard who avoided my eyes spoke.

I tilted my head in his direction, giving him the go ahead.

"What happens to us inside when the stone is removed?"

"You worry of the concerns of your own self? No thoughts of the mysterious machine that brought Kvatch to its knees? You do not fear their fate for yourselves?" I scoffed and looked around. Some faces were eager, foolish, others merely looked down at their own feet, ashamed of themselves.

"What say you?" I spoke directly to the soldier who posed the question. They really were all fools.

"Perhaps I am but a coward, but I worry for the safety of my comrades."

"Your comrades, that's a fine and noble reason," I mocked him. I lifted my head toward them all. "You will all be instantly killed if you remain within. Yes, you must all make great haste to leave before the portal closes." I gauged their reactions, all but one looked suddenly uncomfortable in their own skins, shifting their weight idly and avoiding my eyes. I thought I could hear a sniffle. The Blades behind them had wide eyes of disbelief and outrage pointed in my direction. "Oh, come now, don't be fools. You're all foreign bodies to the plane, so if you're still alive you'll be jettisoned back to Nirn after a few moments. Don't look so glum, really." I rolled my eyes.

They all looked at me with a flash of anger, having lied to them. Such fickle creatures-- their humour changed like the winds.

"I am finished," I announced with a nod and walked straight through their neat little line. In the morning they would enter their first gate, under my guidance.

---

Night came quickly down near the marshes. I always remembered that it had. Very few of the men would talk with me now. They were all angry for my little joke, and they did not appreciate the invaluable information that I had given them beforehand. So what if they would die in there? What did I care anymore? There was nothing left that I cared for, anyway. I was a slave to a nation that had grown to despise me, the bastard suckling pig it had raised. There was nothing left for me if I did not see this task through to its end, yet nothing lay at the end of this to better me. I stole a rowboat that the Bravil guards had used to come over the bay. They would not notice my absence, for they took every precaution to avoid my glance, anyway. The water was black and quiet. I pulled my sack close to me as I rowed in silence. Heaven forbid it should fall overboard.

The coast of Bravil, embraced by the Larsius River, slowly came into view. The few lights on the shore sparkled like fading stars in the blanket of night. It was as though I was seeing Her for the first time: my mother, Bravil. Falling from my loving trance, I remembered the task at hand. The fences and drifters were usually located on the coast of the bay, adjacent to the castle.

They did not ask many questions when I approached them with my goods. A man with a limp neck and upward glance only wondered why I wished to fence them instead of use them for… traditional practices. I expressed my need for money, and that was all.

The mutilated old coot paid me half my expected price! I felt I could not argue, though, for I was better off than I had been prior to the transaction. I was in a rush to leave; I remembered that the guard made their rounds near here, in order to scare these types off.

I was a little disheartened on the sail back over the bay. The anticipation was gone, and so was the hope for a better life. Maybe I could afford a horse and a shanty on the Imperial Waterfront, but that was not what I wanted for myself. I wanted to live on the Niben, as I had in my youth, as I had up until several months or a year ago. I wanted to devour myself, for I hungered for so much. I had the image of ingesting my own innards, eating myself into nothingness, and that comforted me.

I hadn't noticed it on my way across the bay, but a bit off in the distance, closer to the mouth of the Silverfish, was a blue glow. It was brilliant in the night. More brilliant than any will-o-the-wisp I'd ever seen. It was huge. I changed my course for this magnificent light that seemed to be coming from an island. As I brushed against the shore, I flung myself headlong onto the beach, stumbling my way into a run up the twisting earth. What strange plants there were here! The only thing I could compare it to was the image of the Telvanni mushroom cities in Vvardenfell that I had heard of from bards.

The source of the light was frighteningly beautiful. A mouth spewed out the splendid light, pressed between two other faces, creating a terrible triumvirate. I stepped toward the tower of stone, the light now reflecting off of me.

"Send me a Champion! A Champion!" A voice bellowed. I looked around me to find no one calling out. To say it was the dead of night was well… near literal. "What are you, you little mortal thing? You are no Champion. You _abandon _your station. Should put your nose in the soiled carpet! I should tear your nose from your face!" I took a step back. _What was this?_ "But curious, nonetheless. In your madness you serve me well, mortal." I could only stare. "Come, enter, perhaps I can find some chores for you."

I looked about, still no one. I eyed the light, a pull of something both comforting and frightening coming from within. I could just barely see my boat on the shore. I could nearly make out the firelight on the coast where we had made camp. None of these things mattered; they held nothing. I had to die to this world and escape it. _A Champion?_ Perhaps I could not be. On the other side of this strange door, though, I could find something to suite my purpose, perhaps.


	12. The Isles

Author's Notes:

Life is still hectic and extremely uninspiring, so I apologize for withholding updates. Here's a present, though, to perhaps spark some interest in the new story arc. Another chapter might not happen for a few weeks, and again, apologies. Chapter 13 is currently in the works, however. No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought. In this chapter, hopefully there is an apparent personality change here.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Help me make a necklace!

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia enters the Isles, greeted by Haskill in all his stoic glory. She chooses the path of being used by the Madgod, with the intent of using him. In search of civilization, she is wide-eyed and ripe with paranoia while weaving through the forest of whimsical yet foreboding trees and mushrooms. The residents of Passwall are all in the tizzy about the Gatekeeper when she arrives. With a silver tongue and a well-placed Nord, Hetalia resolves to break into the realm proper.

* * *

_The hell is this? Inter-plane census and excise? _ The room was dark and quiet. There was no sign of movement apart from the tireless metronome and a bald man who would occasionally blink, showing life. There was not much else to see in the room. The man did not make a motion to greet me, but only stared, as though waiting to see my action. There was certainly no way that the man who called me so as to shake the mountains could be this stolid being before me. I took a breath to speak.

"Please, have a seat," He interrupted me. "before we proceed any further." Neither his arms, nor his mouth seemed to move. The metronome was livelier than he. I pressed my mouth into a straight line. _Should I do it?_ Something seemed strange. Something seemed strange about this room. It was as though all of the walls were vibrating against one another, made of birds, or something. My eyes batted around the room. I couldn't swallow. There was hidden magic in this room. "Well?" His hand made an appearance. _Stunning._ "Let us be civil." _Civil. Civility. It seems like it's been a while._ I took a seat. "I assume you're here about the door?"

_Was it really necessary to ask?_ "Someone called to me from the other side. Surely, it was not you?" I looked at him, puzzled. The room vibrated, silently, and without motion. _Was this possible?_

"You are quite astute," he said, with his gratingly dry humor. "I am only the Chamberlain to the 'one who has called you', the Lord Sheogorath. My name is Haskill, not that that is of much consequence."

"A _Daedra Prince_ has called me?" _Why me?_

"You doubt in that it was my Lord, but you do not doubt that you were invited?"

"What is your meaning?"

"This was not a personal invitation. This was an invitation for any who desired to accept. An invitation to enter His Isles, and to serve my Lord more _personally._"

"Have others come?"

"Yes, but they have been ill prepared and now have surrendered their minds to the Prince."

"Out there lays the Isles?" I pointed to the door behind him. "And they have…lost their minds?"

"You are already in the Isles," he sighed. "But to answer your question, actually, the others never left this room. Something about it seemed to unnerve them." My fingers were shaking, and my eyes flew around the room again. _Did he not notice this?_ "My Lord has already taken a liking to you, though. He has great faith in your promise."

"I am a deserter," I informed him, leaning forward in my seat.

"That is not important to my Lord, it seems. He believes your mind is already faithful to him, and that your body will follow suit. He has felt similarly before, but I no longer advise Him of such things, for His reality changes to suit His humour, as does the Isles."

"He--He believes I have already gone mad?"

"If my Lord believes it, or wills it, it is so. Yes."

My eyes widened. _What nerve!_ I shot up from my seat.

"Please sit, or I will not continue this discourse further."

"Your Lord believes that I am mad?" I shouted.

"Please, sit," he said indifferently. "You are only further proving it."

I took a moment to calm down and then returned to my chair.

"Take this invitation, or do not, it matters not to me. It would, however, please my Lord."

"What would He have me do?"

"_You _do? I do not know. I do not attempt to fathom such things. It is futile. What you do is your choice, I suppose." _My choice?_ I thought I was here to perform a service to this Lord. There would be no place for my own choice in within His command. "You lookconfused. You walked in, and you are here. It is that simple. Turn back if you must. Do not stress such things; only make your decision, as I have other items to attend to."

"I will pay your Lord a visit. Perhaps He can help me understand some things."

"You truly have gone mad, though you doubt it. To expect the Lord Sheogorath to bring clarity is to ask the mountains to lie down. Impossible. Therein, lies the beauty, I suppose. Do as you will. Perhaps if you make it through the Gates of Madness, I will see you when you have audience with my Lord. Enjoy your stay." At that, he stood up, turned his back on me, and exited through the door behind him into a black nothingness. He left me sitting alone in this room. I didn't know if I should be plainly confused or irate. The room became deathly silent. Even the metronome halted its swing. Suddenly, I could hear the walls beating against one another, like the wings of a thousand gulls moving all at different moments. So loud. The room began to brighten….and fall away.

This was an impossibility. The dark room burst at all its sides, exploding into millions of butterflies of every color. The light poured in from the gaping holes, as the butterflies all flew off and seemed to disappear. It was a magnificent sight, and my eyes were frozen on a spot where there had been a ceiling moments ago. For several minutes I could not move. I was paralyzed in wonder, and in fear.

Around me, the world was orange and purple; it was whimsical and gnarled. Stark white pillars lifted their broken arms to the sky along a path that seemed to lead downward. I stood, and took that path. I was cautious. This was not the danger of the plane of Oblivion that Merhunes Dagon owned. This was a land of hidden danger. Surely the enormous mushrooms would spew a poisonous gas, or the twisting trees would reach down and strangle me. I had to be careful. I raised my hand to my neck, for fear of constriction.

Ahead, there was something dead in the water. Something alive in the water, too. It charged at me, the gruesome thing. Like an overgrown frog, its slimy body and webbed feet lunged for me, holding a dagger. _Disgusting._ When I was finished, it lay dead in the water, next to its friend.

The path wound around for quite a while. I returned my arm to its position near my neck. The trees were so large that their colossal roots straddled the road. This world seemed to defy logic, but I suppose such is the nature of the realm of madness. In the near distance I could see some kind of building rise out of the mist. It looked old, overgrown with vines and caked with dirt. On its side, there was a staircase leading to nothingness. Apparently, it was only a wall with no true building attached, and I passed through its archway.

For a just a moment there was silence, and then a calamity rung into my ears. They were the voices of people, at least I had hoped they were. They were in a frenzy, excited about something. _Had they seen me? Were they going to attack? _I was uncertain. There was a couple who were nearly specks in the distance, who gestured wildly to one another and then ran in the opposite direction, away from me. _Was something behind me?_ I spun around, magic and weapons unprepared. There was nothing there, so surely they were not running from some monstrous tree beast. Perhaps something horrific was going on at the place where they were running to. I became excited, and then alarmed that such a prospect would excite me.

They had torn up a stone walkway that wrapped around the circumference of the settlement. I could see what appeared to be small homes and shops nestled in the boggy dirt as I flew by on the road. I wanted to see what all of the excitement was about. I must have been so lucky to arrive at such an opportune moment! The men who had gone before me had stopped at the top of a stone staircase. I, too, skidded to a halt. Soldiers of Fortune readied their swords to slay an enormous beast. _So, this is what they came to see._

I suddenly felt so blessed that I had not encountered one of these monsters on my way. I had been in fear of murderous trees and noxious mushrooms that I did not even pause to tremble on fear at the thought of this formidable beast. It was a flesh giant, decorated with scars and stitches, adorned with an iron belt. He had no face, but he swung with terrible accuracy the saw that had been sewn to his flesh. Perhaps this was a maddened soul, wrought with sadness and dementia? A party of steel-clad men lunged for the enormous creature.

I wondered how men like these soldiers could ever protect this town. It seemed that the creature was making short work of them. The observers near me cheered. _Cheered?_ _Why should they cheer? The monster would come for them next!_ I looked to the Redgard at my side who shouted:

"Yea, Gatekeeper!" Then, he turned to a Dunmer at his side and said, "I warned them not to bother. They didn't listen." Was this _thing_ indigenous? They didn't seem to see it as a threat, rather than a necessary part of their world. Entertainment. It was as though every soldier killed somehow brought stasis back to their town, back to everything's expected order. I needed to understand. I would understand.

When the last drop of blood had been spilt, this gate keeper was the only combatant left standing. The crowd died down, and before the Redgard could get too far out of sight, I caught his attention.

"What is this place?" I looked at him seriously, but he replied with extraordinary fanfare.

"This is my town! I'm Mayor Shelden, and this is Passwall. You may have noticed the actual pass wall on the way in." _His town?_ He seemed quite proud of his position.

"Mayor?" I was mildly caught unawares. When I had asked about Passwall I was not interested in its politics, but now I found myself curious.

"Yup, I'll speak slowly for you. When I got here, the place was largely uninhabited. Naturally though, after I settled the place, others followed. Isn't it glorious?" So much for politics.

I ignored his question. "What is the gate keeper?" I pursued.

"The Gatekeeper is the Gatekeeper! Are you daft? Adventurers come through from time to time to try their hand at killing him. I don't enjoy it very much, and I often advise people against trying; it makes a mess! The people of Passwall do enjoy the spectacle, though." This reminded me of the Arena. They Gray Prince seemed uncomfortable in his own skin, yet he fought as the Champion for the amusement of the people.

"Why kill the Gatekeeper? It seems as though he aims to protect Passwall." In any case it seemed to me as though the Gatekeeper was invincible, and any attempt on his life was a wasted one.

"The Gatekeeper protects the gates to the realm proper. Once you're through them, you can enter the larger part of the Isles. The only way in is with Lord Sheogorath's blessing, or by getting the keys out from the Gatekeeper's body. That's what they say, anyway. It doesn't matter, there's no way anyone can take him down. That's what I keep telling Jayred, but he doesn't listen."

"Jayred fixes to get the keys? I must speak with him." It was growing dark here, and I did not wish to be mucking around at night in such a dangerous area.

"No, don't tell me you want to help him! You just got here and you already want to die? Heh, no skin off of my bones, especially if Jayred gets his. Enjoy yourself. I think I last saw him at The Wastrel's Purse." He read my confused gaze and elaborated. "The general store and inn. Just over there. It's the only one in town. It's the only one with a sign out front, so you should be alright even if you can't read." I was almost already out of earshot. What a self-concerned whelp. He had served his purpose and whetted my interest in pursuing the keys, though.

The Purse was a dump to say the least. The Lonely Suitor back at home was better appointed than this. The keeper looked as though she were nodding off behind the counter. Before her, a Nord sat nursing a tankard. I sat next to him.

"You are Jayred, are you not?" I turned to him. He was the only Nord in this damp little squat, so it was unlikely that I would be mistaken. Only a Nord would have a name like Jayred.

"Who's askin'? Did you bring me some bones?" _Bones, eh?_ He was a gem, this one.

"Tell me about the Gatekeeper. In exchange perhaps I can throw you a bone," I chuckled.

"You laugh, but that is alright. Your bones are singing to me, and if you do not come through, I will have them."

"Do not worry, I am a Necromancer," I lied. These folks would not care, for this was not Cyrodill; this was not Tamriel. "I always have a few bones on hand. You never know when an opportunity may rise that they will need to be put to use."

"A Necromancer?" He spoke excitedly. I wondered if I should have held my tongue. "You can help me! You can help me destroy Relmyna's beast!"

"Hush now, Jayred," the groggy Bosmer bartender whispered. "Relmyna is just upstairs, have you forgotten? You'll upset her."

"Oh, shut your trap, Dredhwen!" He bellowed.

"Do you mean the Gatekeeper? He was created?" I directed my question to both, but one interrupted before the other could answer.

"The Gatekeeper was the creation of Relmyna to protect the Gates of Madness. It's all well and good to see adventurers be torn limb from limb by him, but his bones torture me! They call to me in my sleep! They seduce me, sending me visions of the skin surrounding them being peeled away. They are what has called me here, and I must have them! I need the Gatekeeper dead!" He cried.

"Hush, Jayred!" Dredhwen warned again.

"Come with me to the Gardens of Flesh and Bone. If you can pick the lock, I can get the bones of his siblings, and you know, the best way to kill something is with the bones of its own." The Nord's eyes glistened. The mad were all too easy to work with. This whole ordeal would be nothing more than child's play.


	13. Blood, Tears, Seduction, Madness

Author's Notes:

I promised there would be an eventual update! It's here! Hopefully it does not disappoint. It's rather short, I know, but this chapter has been like a gargantuan speed bump in my writing, and I'm glad to just have to done with. I understand this arc is a critical period for character development, so I know it would be a fatal mistake to ghost over events in the Isles. *****However, I don't want to detail every quest, so I need your help! I've made a poll with a few interesting quests I thought would be entertaining to explore, so please tell me what you think! However, if you want me to just cut to the chase, say so! I'm always open for messages and advice.***** For now, I'll be working on a subsequent chapter closer to the end of her stay in the Isles. No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. Italics represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Help me make a necklace!

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia sends her newfound errand boy, Jayred, on a reconnaissance mission for weapons to fell the Gatekeeper. In the meantime, she does some research of her own. She encounters Nanette Don and eventually Relmyna after rummaging through her belongings. Finally, Jayred comes through and the two set out to make the kill.

* * *

I would not bring myself to do anyone's dirty work, though. When Jayred offered me his lockpick, I only pushed it away. He was excited from my lie about being a Necromancer, yet I couldn't understand why he would think someone so skilled in magics would need to use some sort of primitive tool.

"Keeper, bring me a sheet of parchment!" I called. Dredhwen seemed to snap out of her daze. She pulled a small rolled sheet of paper out from behind the counter and pushed it along the tabletop towards me. "And an inkpot. Tell me, do you not have a quill?" She produced both from under the counter, and eyed me sheepishly before seeming to doze once again.

"What do you intend to do? Write me directions? Come now!"

"Hush," I said in passing. I dipped the quill into the watery ink and pressed it to the paper. It was so thin that it was as though, running low on ink, the pot had been placed outside to collect rainwater.

"Isn't the ink splendid?" Dredhwen said in her sleep. "It is a gift from nature."

_Well, then, I suppose I am right._ I scratched the Daedric lettering onto the parchment. 'Woe upon you' it read. In my time in enchanting, it never made much of sense to me about the inscriptions designated to each kind of scroll. What woe, apart from loss of possessions, could a scroll of open create? Not to mention that certain inscriptions were used tirelessly across schools of magic. However, the intent of action was always clear in the incantation. When finished, I rolled it up, and asked for some twine, but she had none.

"Well, then," I said, holding the rolled scroll out to Jayred. "Surely you can manage to use this? I would come along, but I have other things that need my attention." He looked a bit dumbfounded, but when I turned my face from him, he spoke.

"Come and see me in the morning. I'll have the bones ready then. My shack is near the bog."

_All of the shacks were near the bog. The entire town was surrounded by the bog!_ Nevermind, though. I'd find my way.

I surmised that it would take Jared at least the rest of the night to assemble the arrows, so I found myself with ample time to spare. At one point or another anyone in town who I had not yet made their acquaintance would eventually wander in. In the meantime, I found myself staring into the sleepy bartender's face from the other side of the counter. She swayed back and forth gently in her slumber, eyeballs flitting around every so often.

After some time, an annoying little thing with yellow hair floated in and parked herself next to me on the adjacent stool. Her relentless chatter shook Dredhwen out of her sleep, and she was then forced into discourse with the effeminate babbling brook. I did my best to ignore her and turn my attention everywhere else as to not attract her.

"Oh, it was simply splendid!" She dribbled on to anyone who would listen. "Say, has Relmyna left yet? I was hoping to catch her before she goes out to—"

"You are acquainted with Relmyna?" I interjected.

"Oh! Hello there, you're a new face, aren't you?" I eyed her without saying a word. "Actually, I'm Nanette Don, her apprentice."

"What can you tell me about the Gatekeeper?"

At first she seemed surprised at my question. "Relmyna, erm…" She suddenly seemed to become uncomfortable. "She'll reeducate me in the nature of pain if I say too much…"

I could feel a smile creeping across my face.

Midnight was rapidly approaching. I expected that Jayred would be finished soon with the weapons he had set out to create. He shouldn't need all night to finish them. If I was correct, I had little time to execute my task at hand. Nanette had babbled on for hours and even someone like me could not quite break away from the conversation as easily as I hoped. It was hardly through luck that I was able to persuade that gossip Nanette to tell me Relmyna's secret, though, but once the floodgates were opened, the current of her words were near impossible to halt. In any case, Relmyna would be departing soon for her scheduled visit with the Gatekeeper shortly, I had learned, meaning that she would first need to stop back at her room at the inn. I had little time to slip in and out. Nanette made it so that I had to put very little effort to find out about the powerful property of her tears, too. Somehow I wondered if Nanette had actually wished for Relmyna's downfall. It is not a wonder why she tortured her, then. Could she really hunger for her master's position? If so, I'd torture the little whelp, too.

Relmyna left her door unlocked, surprisingly. I second guessed myself then. Would such a guarded woman really leave her door practically ajar? Was this a trap? I peered in sideways into the room. There didn't seem to be any sort of snare laid out. Perhaps she had hoped that her own unsociable nature and renowned ability in destructive magic would keep the curious away. I don't suppose she had planned on Nanette ratting her out though, believing that she punished her so effectively.

I rummaged through her room, looking for something of use. Perhaps there would be a handkerchief or a sopping pillow that I could somehow manage to poison the arrows with. _Poisoning with tears, what a strange idea. _I tore up herdesk drawers, hoping for something. I was unable to turn up a single tear, however I did happen upon a curious scroll. It was all rolled up with great care and hidden in the back of the drawer. Reading the first line I could see that this letter addressed the Lord of this realm. It seemed as though it had been written with the intention of being sent, but had never made it to the courier. The perfumed letter was simply beginning to smell musty. I unrolled it further. "_Our child continues to destroy those pesky adventurers who come seeking treasure and glory._" Could this be in reference to the Gatekeeper? I supposed this was written in Relmyna's hand, then. I read on. "_I can remember when we created him, your glistening body in the pool, lovingly blending the components of flesh that would become our child - and afterward you tortured me in your sweet embrace."_ Dear me, what rubbish! Blasphemy even! I had wasted enough time; the arrows would have to be enough. I replaced the letter.

I felt strangely awkward while making my way down into the common room of the building. Everyone tried so hard to appear to be minding their own business, but I knew that they had all just been discussing me a moment before. Once they heard me make my way to the stairs, I am sure they all turned their heads away and shut up their jaws. They had been jabbering on about my strange humour, my audacity for entering another guest's room, especially that of one blessed by The Madgod. I stood on the stairway, looking on with disdain and distaste at the rabble crowded around the crude, wooden tables.

Without warning, some gray figure crowded my line of sight. I craned my neck to look around it, but did not move. I couldn't see around the damned thing. I turned my attention to it, its beady red eyes burning.

"For the love of all, what is it with the people here? You're all just bags of meat waiting for your blessing. From the looks of it, this one is practically catatonic! What a joke- as though my Lord would ever endorse such refuse."

"Shining like Azura's Star, you must be Relmyna," I offered, baiting her response.

"And you must be a fool like all the rest; now, step aside." She made motion as though to step by me, but found that she could not, as I would not stand aside. As to why I did not let her by, I do not know. Perhaps it was all I could do so that I could fully absorb what I had read earlier. It seemed impossible for a Daedra Prince to ever fancy a mortal to that extent. _Could they really be courting? Or is she simply mad like the rest of the lot? _Regardless, all agreed that she was the birthmother of the Gatekeeper, so I suppose that the rest was simply yet to be seen. In due time, I supposed it would come to light. The sweat and blood spatter plastered to her chest rose and fell with each breath. Her bosom pleasantly swayed along with it. I looked up at her. She seemed to be growing impatient. Just short of her making a motion to thrust me aside, I stepped away to let her pass. _I suppose Daedra too can desire the comforts the mortal body can offer, without tearing it to shreds._

I decided to bide the rest of my time at the bar in the Purse, as I had no where else to really spend my evening. Everything seemed to have been for naught today. I could only hope that Jayred would come through tonight. I found myself dozing in and out of sleep, sometimes in tune with Dredhwen's cycle. I wondered if Jayred would ever be finished with our ammunition, for Relmyna had even retired to her quarters by this time. It was growing much too late now. Perhaps I should check in with him.

With a thundering crash, Jayred burst into the pub with two quivers full of pale, menacing arrows. _Was I not the one who was supposed to be paying him the visit? _No one else appeared to notice his grand entrance, though. It seemed as though the two of us were set against an oil-painted backdrop.

I elementally poisoned each arrow, and the creature fell much more quickly than expected. As the beast fell to its death I felt as though in the distance I could hear the blood-curdling scream of a mourning mother. Aside from the actual time it took to execute the kill, the battle was extraordinarily unremarkable, if the use of such a term is permitted. I felt strangely pleased with myself, as I had caused a mother to outlive her offspring.

I could barely hear Jayred screaming in ecstasy behind me, for I was entirely inside of myself. The keys echoed, sounding cool and refreshing, like water. They were in some dark place, buried deep inside the body of the fleshy beast. They cried to be let free, liberated. They wanted me as much as I wanted them. I knew it. With my bare hands I found myself tearing at the Gatekeeper's flesh, hot with desire. Tendons were snapping, and dark magic was bursting out at all sides, caressing my face, calling to me in the tone of a lover. There was a crowd gathering- I could feel it. The air grew more oppressive. I was perspiring; bits of fatty flesh and blood rained down onto my sticky skin. It was erotic. I grasped the oversized keys in my hands with triumph, thrusting them into the sky in victory. _Dear me, it is morning already... _A moment later I inspected them in the new light, much like a child inspects a curious new object. I fingered them gently, but quickly lost interest in the lofty grandeur of the Mania key. Favoring the twisted and cold key that called to me like an old friend, I dropped the other to the ground. I felt as though I knew it well. _Is this the seductive magic of the Daedra?_ I could only guess. I looked on at the mutilated corpse I left behind. Sheogorath perhaps would not be pleased with me.


	14. Oh, It's You!

Author's Notes:

Another shorty. Just tryin' to keep the dream alive. Heh! I understand this arc is a critical period for character development, so I know it would be a fatal mistake to ghost over events in the Isles. *****However, I don't want to detail every quest, so I need your help! I've made a poll with a few interesting quests I thought would be entertaining to explore, so please tell me what you think! ****I will withhold further updates until some votes have been cast.**** However, if you want me to just cut to the chase, say so! I'm always open for messages and advice.***** For now, I'll be working on a subsequent chapter closer to the end of the arc. No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. Italics represent a current thought.

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia's arrival in New Sheoth is nothing short of exciting for both herself and Sheogorath. He takes great delight in her presence, frightening her and inviting her response. He praises her for her excellent excavation of his Gatekeeper's body before quickly shooing her off to Xedilian to make repairs on it.

* * *

A cool breeze tore through the palace courtyard of New Sheoth, causing even the guards to steady their helmets with their hands. The courtyard was distinctly divided with one side violently bright, and the other calm, subdued, even therapeutic in nature. Strange crystal spires sporadically jutted out of their own accord about the garden. The walls were moving again, massaging the air around me, propelling me forward towards the doors leading into the palace proper. I hesitated at the door for a brief moment, frightened into stillness by the possibility of a horror that lay inside. One of the guards, a Dunmer whose face was fat and skin tinted a sickly purple, eyed me with caution, watching; waiting. The wildness in the eyes of the guard proved more frightening than the fear of coming face to face with a Sload inside . Her soul was clearly on fire.

The inside of the palace was frighteningly still. The careful crackle of fire could be heard echoing through the arches of the throne room for what seemed like all eternity. I stepped into the light. The room threw itself up in chaos before splitting itself in half, much like the town I had stopped in while I took a detour on my way to the capitol. Half of the town's inhabitants were quite normal, down to earth folk. The other half were plainly maniacs, dressed in garish attire, and carried out their day with unnecessary fanfare. Here, the hall was quiet, with only echoes of each lifestyle represented by appropriate color and plant life. Half of the halls torches burned a pleasant blue, while the others burned an almost unnatural orange. As I approached, I heard the faint sound of clapping, which grew louder as I grew nearer. Booming, booming, booming. There was a white-haired man seated, clapping with much vigor, dressed like many of the maniacs I had happened upon. I didn't know whether to bow in respect or to turn away in disgust at his manner of dress. As such, I found myself unable to move, standing vulnerable before the Prince. The walls shook with laughter.

"Oh, it's you! You made it! It's so good to see you that I could just siphon out your soul and make porridge!" He boomed.

I couldn't speak. My heart was pounding violently in my chest. It was fighting to get out, and it would tear me up if it had to.

"My, my, so boring you are. We'll just have to change that, won't we, Haskill? In any case, an introduction is in order. I am Sheogorath, Prince of Madness! And pie!"

I hadn't noticed Haskill in the room before this. It wasn't a wonder why: he was as uninspiring as he had been before. He seemed to only be an overseer, a supervisor. I turned my attention back to the Prince. He didn't look like I had expected. Aside from his otherworldly eyes and rather strange accent, he seemed like any other man I had encountered in my travels. He wasn't even very large, but rather on the short side. I was nearly disappointed. And pie?

"Now, now, don't look so bereaved, my dear Champion! Your source of unhappiness is still yet to be discovered! For now, you are here! You've kept me waiting, but you have put on a good show! You dance very well for a cave rat."

"My Lord…" Haskill interjected. He was clearly making a opening for me to speak.

"My Lord, the rats all whisper about your wondrous deeds in the liberation of Pelagius's mind. I beg your pardon to remain on topic, though. I came to this realm at your request. I understood that something was required of me, but I do not venture to say that I am worthy of being your Champion in any sense, of this you are well aware."

"Nonsense! Change is a'comin' 'round the mountain! The Greymarch is coming, to be exact! You must rain on that parade!"

"…Pardon, my Lord?"

"No begging yet." He waved me off. "Things always get boring when the begging begins! For now, I'm going to spin you some yarns."

"And then I will proceed to untangle them for you if I must, do not worry," Haskill leaned in towards my right ear and spoke.

"I have been seeking a Champion all of my life—which probably includes upwards of three-quarters of your life as well—without success! Every man, woman, or child of potential has seen their end before I had seen their worth! But, here _you_ are, curiously, practically made to order to fit my purpose. We are of like mind, you and I. Sometimes myself and I are not even of like mind. A tad creepy actually. There can only be one of me—I may have to end you sometime." He leaned forward on his grandiose walking stick while in his chair. "But in the meantime, well done!" Once again he began to clap joyously.

I'm not sure what I thought at that moment. I was surely confused. But his heart echoed mine—if that was his heart. _Do Daedra even have hearts?_ I supposed they did. After all, something that resembled a heart had gone into those restore health potions in Bruma. _Are they functional though, I wonder?_

"When the Greymarch has been halted you will already have risen to the highest mark of office in the Shivering Isles! The highest mark, I assure you! Aren't the Isles lovely this time of year? The Baliwogs have just finished their spawning. Majestic creatures, if I might say. They only look more beautiful when strung up by their flippers with their entrails tumbling out. Only then can you see the real master craftsmanship."

"Indeed." I was not sure what else to say, but the image of such a sight did stir up some pleasure. The world spun.

"Now, I know what you're thinking, being of like mind, you and I. What shall I have for dinner? I've been wondering that myself, actually. _BUT_, before we get into the careful politics of such a decision, I have one more thing to discuss with you."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"About my Gatekeeper," He began, growing serious.

I took in a deep breath. Here was the crux of the whole situation. Here I was before a god, a god that had a 'son' I had murdered. This whole time he had been buttering me up, talking light bits of nonsense to lull me into false security. He would destroy me! He was a calculating monster! Suddenly he would be a plagued Sload or a saber-toothed Kahjiit and would proceed to rip my intestines out through my nose. Daedra deceived; Daedra were the Princes of deceit. Someone had told me that once before, but I could not remember who. It was the end. The end. The end. The end. The end.

"A fine bit of work you did there with him! With your bare hands you carved him with greater skill than any ritual cultsman! It's a shame that he couldn't enjoy it too while in life—he really had an appreciation for fine art, I understand. I shall put him on display! His mother will be practically dead with delight!"

I hadn't realized I had pressed myself against the door leading to the outer courtyard. Sheogorath was cackling in amusement over the musings only he could understand, so he hadn't noticed me shy away from his presence. He spoke to me just as I had never moved.

"You really must show me how you did that sometime!" he continued, slapping his knee. _Was it really all that impressive? _A Madgod was by nature _mad_, but I too had thought I had done a fine bit of work myself. If nothing else, my vigor must have been inspiring, I suppose. I began to ease up and make my way back to my original position. "Something must be done about it, though. And since you're the one who struck him down, a suitable punishment," _Punishment? Hadn't he just been as merry as a maid?_ "would be to have you engage another means of security for the realm."

"Are you implying that I should raise an army, my Lord?"

"Would you rather rot in a dungeon for the rest of _my _days? Beggars cannot be choosers now—unless they choose to be beggars… curious… Anyway! No, you see, most of my unwanted guests in the realm are pesky adventurers that only wind up wreaking havoc or upsetting my delicate citizens. Xedilian is designed in the same way that fishermen use honey to attract flies. They either come out assimilated or obliterated," he chuckled. "Haha, isn't that splendid?"

There_ was_ poetry in it. How Xedilian could accomplish something like that was beyond my range of thinking, but needless to say, I was very much interested.


	15. Sacrificial Flame

Author's Notes:

Thank you all for your contributions! No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. Italics represent a current thought.

Chapter Summary:

The flame in the Sacellum Arden-Sul must burn once more. At Sheogorath's request, Hetalia must venture to Cylarne to either help the Aureals and the Mazken reconcile or to help them destroy each other in order to relight the flame of Agnon. With the Greymarch advancing further, time is very short.

I was almost there, I could feel it in my bones. I had been walking for days on end, it seemed. I had only been receiving orders from the Madgod for a few months, and already he was sending me on a mission into the belly of the beast. Yes, sometimes the Saints and Seducers were more frightening than the advancing Order. They were fierce fighters that would not hesitate to tear anything up that stood in their way, all for the glory of our Lord. _How exciting!_

_Cylarne is bound to be over this next hill_. This was not the first time I had been sent into the lion's den. I suppose it was all in an attempt to have me accept my role as His Champion. His Excellency also threatened me with the assertion that I would become Him while Jyggalag walks. I still was not sure how I would fair when that time came, and I could only hope it would be an excruciating experience.

" '_You will be a new Me! Or you'll die trying. I love that about you,'" _echoed in my head. I wasn't thinking about it. So strange that it would come up of its own accord.

Cylarne was a rocky mess of boulders and rubble. There was no doubt that the guards had fought over the altars for millennia, as the site clearly bore its share of battle scars. One of the guards at the gate sneered at me. Of course she was a Golden Saint. All of the Golden Saints were nothing but Yellow Sots. A Seducer came from the other side of the complex and waived me on.

"You must be the one sent by the Madgod. Come! I will guide you to the altar."

"By the Madgod? A mortal sent to Holy Cylarne?" The Saint was in disbelief it seemed. I suppose Sheogorath had sent a message ahead that the Mazken had likely intercepted before the Saints had gotten wind.

The inside of Cylarne had taken me very much by surprise. Being a holy place, I imagined it to be adorned appropriately with its share of corpses and bright flora to reflect each side of madness. Everything else abided by those rules. However, it did also seem appropriate that all things here should completely defy logic. It was only logical. Instead of being as expected, the interior was bland like the inside of my shoe and crumbling. The entire building was a maze of underpasses, overpasses, and staircases.

"Grakedrig! The mortal Lord Sheogorath sent us word of has arrived!" my guide called, seemingly to the only Mazken devoid of a helm.

She turned suddenly. "Excellent! A woman, too. You have arrived at a most opportune time. The Aureals will no doubt attack at any moment. They come from the same corridor at the same time hour every time. They are so pompous and self-important to think they can seize our altar in this way. Again, they will be obliterated. There is not much time, now. We must make out way into our defense position soon. When the Aureal have been destroyed, I , Ulfri, will be very much obliged to light the flame above for you. I now yield to you. Shall we proceed?"

_My, my, yielding to me?_ It seemed unreal. From what I had seen while in the Court of Madness, those part of Mania clouded their heads with drugs and preoccupied themselves with abstracts. The Saints were no exception. It was only those at the other end of the spectrum that held fast and had an appreciation for the finer points of pain and torture. Especially torture.

"As always, the Lord's Mazken stand true, I see. I will trust in your judgment, Commander," I nodded to her. "I only hope that you do not disappoint me."

"To disappoint you would be to disappoint my Lord, and to do so would be most unacceptable. Failure is not possible, I assure you." Our eyes met for a moment in a long stare.

"You are clear to give orders and move out, then. I will stand with your archers and provide cover fire, if I may." Ulfri merely nodded and charged off into the killing field, waving her soldiers on. This would be a most glorious day, painted in the precious ink of blood and death.

The Mazken archers were the first to open fire on the approaching troops. We oversaw a large staircase and the main corridor, which made the Saints easy targets to say the least. The arrows took a strike or two to fell one of them, but the same could not be said of my Dire Shockball. With a single hit, a Saint would violently convulse before falling down dead. The archers also were greatly amused when I caused a small squad of Saints to turn on their Commander.

When Kaneh fell, we began to push down the corridor toward the Altar of Rapture to clear away any stragglers. They were few and far in between, but they fought to the death_. I wonder if it is because they are immortal. Immortals have no concept for mortality or final death, I suppose. For them, it is a mere inconvenience._

When the golden filth had been wiped away, the only thing that was left was to light the flame. Ulfri said that she would proceed to the Altar of Despair, while a subordinate lights the flame here. She instructed me to go and collect the flame once the torch above has been lit.

Standing on the Altar of Rapture was a young Mazken, who was beside herself with pride that she might light the flame. Her comrades gathered around her, falling on their knees, seemingly to pray.

"The flame can only be kindled by an immortal, you know. I go now to the dark waters of Oblivion. Thank you for your aid in our cause. You will be well remembered by all of our sisters." At that, she laid a hand on her chest before bursting into flames there. I could only marvel at her dedication. I was almost jealous, for she had completed the task that she most aspired to in life. I suppose as much should be expected of an immortal. _I wonder how long she has waited for this._


	16. Accession, Earned or Wrought

Author's Notes:

Oh, why do I do this, viewers? Because I love you! No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. Italics represent a current thought.

Chapter Summary:

The flame of Agnon burns bright on the Dementia side of Arden-Sul. The only logical thing to do, as per Sheogorath, is to do the next thing. As such, Hetalia goes grocery shopping for the heart of the Duchess to give a bloody start to her reign of terror over Crucible. When she returns, Sheogorath again does the only logical thing, seeing betrayal all around him—pluck out her eyes! Perhaps she should have visited more often…

I left the inner sanctum feeling satisfied. I knew that only a member of the Court of Dementia could appreciate the magnificence of death. All that there was left to do now was to collect the flame above.

Topside, there seemed to be a good humor surrounding the entire place. Mazken were poised around the great flame that had once been nothing more than a lifeless offering bowl. It burned a lovely tone of blue and orange. I looked through my things for a torch, but could not turn up anything of use.

"Step into the flame, it will not mar the skin of an envoy of our Lord," one of them said, assuringly. _Step into it? Surely everyone here is mad beyond reason._ The flame was of a strange color, though, and no heat seemed to be radiating from it. _Curious, really. _Even if it did burn, it might not be so terrible. After all, I exhibited an appreciation for pain. To have it inflicted on myself was a new prospect that seemed frightful but exciting.

All at once, I threw myself into the flames, hoping to feel something. What I felt was like a cool breath of fresh air. My whole body seemed to be alight with the holy flame. The Seducers cheered. There was nothing more to do than to step out of the flame.

"Light the Sacellum for Dementia!" they cried, lifting their swords to the sky. I stared at my hands, all aglow with the holy light. "For Dementia!" they cried again.

I did as they requested, and proceeded to offer the flame of Agnon on behalf of Dementia in the Sacellum Arden-Sul. Inside the cage that would hold the flame, I felt like a prisoner, but giddy. I thought it odd that I had difficulty feeling giddy when I was actually in a prison. After a moment, I felt the flame's power go out of me, and it left me breathless. It actually hurt a bit, as though it tried to suck my soul out with the flame. As I tried to readjust to feeling like a normal mortal again, I could hear clapping.

"Well done! Ya've done it again! Once more you're victorious! A good show!" It was my Lord, once again praising me for my success. Perhaps I should wean him off of that. I might become self-important.

"My Lord." I found myself curtseying, something I hadn't done in ages.

"It's so good that you're off to a running start. Best not to trip, though. You don't want to have Jyggalag catching ya with your pants down!"

"My Lord, what would you have me do now?"

"A curious question. That question always makes me curious. The answer is simple, though: I will have you do the next thing! When I am gone, don't cry now, my people will need someone to look up to! Someone to give them backbone, the spineless creatures they are. In addition to being My Champion, you will be a Duchess."

"A Duchess, my Lord? How do you propose such a thing?"

"It's simple: you'll need to control one of the Courts of Madness. Replace someone! Turn the tables! Shake things up a bit! I am really enjoying this new way of doing things! Assuredly, gaining one of the thrones will definitely command respect… and obedience."

_Could he be serious? _It was always difficult to tell. "And what of the Duke and Duchess?"

"There is a ritual, you know. There's a ritual for everything. Except for everything. That would be silly. In any case, this ritual must be followed for you to receive the symbols of office. Rituals and symbols are very important, remember that." He cleared his throat and leaned in toward me. "To be honest," He spoke in the low whisper, "I'm getting rather tired of Syl. Always thinks everyone's out to get her. I guess they could be. It's up to you, though. Replace whichever." He leaned back into his seat in the Sacellum pew.

"Very well. Syl must die, my Lord. I have heard of her trespasses, her involvement with the Court of Mania. All of that must be ended. Her paranoid fears must come to fruition."

Sheogorath cackled with delight. "Good choice then! You would make a fine Duchess of the Demented. That is of course, considering you don't die. Try not to. If you can manage to survive, the birth of a new court will spring forth before your eyes! Actually, I might have to take those from you when this is finished." In my time here, I had learned when to take heed to my Lord's words, with the help of Haskill. This was not a time to be concerned.

The ritual seemed to be more involved than I had believed. Even with the help of her attendants Kithlan and Anya, Syl was as illusive as a Scalon. She had made her way into the depths of a fortress beneath the castle, called Xirethard. The interior of this fortress was a maze lined with traps and bloodthirsty Mazken. I could only hope they would be as steadfast to protect me after Syl was dead. Yes, she couldn't evade me much longer. I would end her miserable life.

I had sustained many wounds in my time down here. I had been careless and too blinded by rage to take time and observe. Kithlan had warned me that she may lead me into an ambush. My side was bleeding most profusely up until a moment ago, when I had at long last stopped the bleeding. My restoration magic was suffering. I would soon have to remedy that. All of the archers in the surrounding area had been killed, and all of the others had either met the same fate or were severely wounded. I could hear Syl berating one of her guards for having not taken a different route which would lead out of the city.

"You have me cornered, do you not understand? You are all against me! How dare you! The protection of Sheogorath is absolute! You will all be punished severely!" She was in a frenzy. Perhaps she too would be as careless as I had been. Her Seducer remained silent. Perhaps they truly had grown tired of her incessant blabber, as well.

I gathered every ounce of strength I had to make the kill. The time was any moment now. I had only to wait for my head to stop spinning. It would be so sweet to finally have her gone. Her paranoid ramblings caused her to neglect her people. How I hated paranoid conspiracy plots. Furthermore, her consorting with Thadon was even more unforgivable. Mania and Dementia—the two must always remain separate. Anything else was pure heresy. She had right to fear for her life.

If I had simply thrown myself out into the open it would surely have been the death of me. I couldn't have that. Invisibility would be most useful here. In the cloak of shadow I approached Syl. She was extremely jittery. She clung to her oversized hammer like a crutch, hoping it would save her. It looked so foolish to have a Wood Elf carry such an exaggerated weapon. I managed to sneak up behind her and latch my arm around her throat. When I came into view, the spell wearing off, the Seducer looked on with wide eyes, but did not reach for her weapon.

"You fool! Help me!" It was useless though. Syl was immobilized, no longer a threat. Her mallet tumbled to the ground. The Seducer stumbled backwards and dashed out of the corridor, evidently wanting nothing to do with Syl or her unavoidable demise. "Please! Release me! Darkness help me! I am Lord Sheogorath's blessed Duchess—you will be put to death for your crimes!"

"Duchess," I cooed. "Your Lord wants you replaced. Your paranoia is most annoying and your affair with the Duke cannot go unpunished."

"…You!" She cried.

"Tell me how it feels, Duchess." I plunged my silver knife into her side with my free hand. "I want to know every detail." She cried out in fitful bursts, but at length said nothing. Her blood was warm and poured freely. It smelled sweet. I let her fall to the ground. "I need your heart, Lady Syl. That is, if you have yet to give it to our enemy, the Manics, you traitor!" I plunged it once more into her chest. Her eyes went wide, her body seized up and then went limp. _Is she truly dead?_ It seemed surreal. I dragged the dagger up through her chest cavity, exposing the ribs.

With the hilt of the blade, I cracked open her chest plate, revealing her still heart. I cut it carefully from the arteries surrounding it. _I wish I didn't have to give it up. This would make a fine trophy._

Once again Sheogorath was excessively pleased to see that I still lived.

"You keep surprising me at every turn, though I did expect you would. A bit of bad news for you though, Duchess. Thadon had learned of Syl's death by your hand, and he's none too happy about it, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Thadon will seek revenge?" Surely he would.

"Even worse! He's sworn his allegiance to the Order!" _The Order? Could this be?_ "The Order has already taken the Fringe. They're assembling forces there! I don't like it when people are assembling forces in my Fringe!" He shouted. "There are traitors everywhere, it seems. I'm fighting with myself if I can trust you, even. At the very least I should keep an eye on you, or two."

"An eye? Two eyes on me, my Lord?"

"Yes! A splendid idea! It ought to help me keep track of you, as well as get a good view of all the action! I hope you don't spend much of your time hiding," he chuckled.

_What?_ I was suddenly blinded. It hurt. It burned. I couldn't help but scream. I had done nothing but pleased Him. _Will he kill me?_

But, then I could see again. The world was a blur for a brief moment before coming into focus. Was it possible that I was actually seeing more… clearly? I thought surely that I had been maimed.

"My Lord, what have you done? Have I displeased you?"

"I've given you a gift! Well, I've also taken out an insurance policy on you as well. Don't worry your little head about it now. I liked these eyes when I chose them for my Aureals, and I hope you'll grow to like them as well. If not, you can watch the chickens peck them out. Haha! That's funny, because you'll already be blind!"

"You have given me the eyes of the troops of my enemy?"

"Mania is not your enemy, my dear! It is simply the white sheep of your family that you're not too proud of. Both the Mazken and the Aureals serve me directly, and to approve of both is to please Me. They're all my daughters. So run along now to your new Court and play nice with your sisters. I'll send for you when I'm ready, which will be later." I turned to leave. It was of no use to press further. "Oh! Look, it's later."


	17. Duchess, My Duchess

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. Italics represent a current thought.

Chapter Summary:

When holding court becomes a bore, Hetalia goes out to survey the streets of her Duchy. Along the way she recalls bits of broken memories that might be hers or otherwise. Her vehement hatred of Mania comes to light and soon enough the death knell tolls for someone.

It was simply a wretched day. I hated being at court. No one ever came to visit. When they did, they only came to mock me for having to sit, waiting, for hours on end. It was in their eyes. I supposed I could get up and walk about the courtyard, but what if someone came by? I would not be here, and perchance they would burglarize my bedchamber. My Mazken could be bought; everyone could be bought. It was a strange yet obvious reality that no one could be trusted, so I couldn't take that risk. I had so many expensive and beautiful baubles about my room. It would be nothing less than I shame if one of them went missing. _This throne, really, is much too hard._ _Must my steward sit so close? I might catch whatever he has that makes him so grumpy._ Kithlan looked straight ahead, as though in a trance, in the hard stone chair next to mine. Oh, how I hated court. The chair at my other side lay empty still, where Anya had once been, the uppity bitch. I'm sure Relmyna had put both her and Syl to good use. It was really a shame that she had not sent me word with what she intended to do with the bodies. I really ought to find someone to replace Anya, though. I didn't know how much longer I could stand to have my throne room remain so _unbalanced_.

My head between my hands, I couldn't stop myself from swaying my head to and fro in a violent cycle. The dizziness it caused made my head feel as though it actually _wasn't _spinning, and it even dizzied up the other entities that would whisper to me once and a while. _ I need to get out. I need to get out of here. Go see the countryside, my subjects, the Elytra, the poor sots at the Hill of Suicides… But if someone comes and I am not here… I will be elsewhere. That will be bad…I think. My Mazken must be loyal to me, though. They would not forget that which I had done for them at Cylarne. Sheogorath wouldn't allow for anything less. No, no. They exist on His whim, and I am His Champion. He will look after my interests while I am away, surely._

I would take a walk about Crucible! I flew up from my chair, all at once, and made my way out of the throne room. I couldn't stand it a moment longer. The stillness of the air was stifling.

"Duchess! Where are you off to? You are not nearly finished holding court!" I could hear the chair screech across the floor as Kithlan got up from his seat with a start.

"Steward! While I am gone, find me a plush cushion for the unbearable chair, and find someone to keep Anya's seat warm. I am off to see my city."

He did the only thing he could do—he assented. "Yes… my Lady… I shall."

_I had almost forgotten!_ "Be sure to send out the invitations to the local nest of Grummites. Do not disappoint me, now. I want them to see the work we've done on the interrogation chamber. If that doesn't make them want to sign a treaty, I don't know what will!" I was out the door before he could answer.

The city was horrid today. The fog hung low over the streets, clinging to the signs and the walls, holding them up. The swampy water that flooded the streets was especially sticky today, too. It stuck to your ribs—if you let it. Splendid. The aroma in the air was the delicate bouquet of somewhere I had once been before. At least I thought I had been there before. The place had bars and it had been cold. There was sewage too if I remembered correctly. Then again, maybe it hadn't been me after all. There was no place quite like that in the Isles, and I had always been in the Isles. No, it couldn't have been my memory.

The streets were very much lively for this time of day. I had seen two or three people about the streets. Since I had ascended the throne, the amount of people outside at any given time had decreased quite a bit. That must have been an indication that the people felt a lot safer with Syl removed from power. They were no longer afraid to be sent to the torture chamber and detained there because they did not have to put up with Syl's incessant, paranoid babbling. In fact, they crowded into the chambers at my invitation. After my visit to Xalsem I had been inspired and I wished to play in my own home just as Relmyna did. I finally fully appreciated the brilliance of her mind.

Syl had been such a trifle, really. _I cannot stand those that fear conspiracy! _There was no sense in worrying about people being out to get you until they actually got you, yet she insisted on it. If they never got you, then you would have worried without reason. So, where was the logic in her mind, anyway? She was so ineffective at being paranoid at the very least. After all, I still managed to kill her!

One of the townsfolk on the street caught my attention, for he was acting awfully skittish, more like a Bliss resident according to my observations. If so, Thadon would pay for letting one of his lunatics pollute my side of the capitol. He'd be eating this manic for dinner, over a bed of cabbage! _Maybe he was attempting to sabotage something in Crucible,_ my_ city. A bridge perhaps? _He could easily drop a boulder on one from the highpoint in which he stood. I would go investigate.

"What are you doing here, skulking about?" I called as I neared the plateau at the stop of the final flight of stairs. He spun around, jerking randomly. I had obviously startled him. When I saw his face, something about it shook something up in the back of my mind. "Have I seen you before? I have. Scouting out the palace grounds. What business have you? You're a spy?" I peered over the edge of the landing. This was just about the highest point in the city. The only other person I could see on the street looked to be about the size of an insect from here.

"A spy! No, no, I'm no spy." Then, he paused for a long moment and his eyes grew wide. "I mean, yes, yes, I am a spy! I have done horrible spy-like things! I deserve death even!"

I knitted my eyebrows, all of me, even the consulting entities crowding my brain all agreed. "The only thing perhaps you deserve death for is for poorly feigning guiltiness. Let's have it. What's your problem?"

He waited for a moment, trying to gauge if I was serious, I suppose. You were either always serious or never serious here. Was it really so hard for him? What I was trying to decipher was if he was mine or Thadon's.

"This life, it's... well, it's too painful. Everywhere I look, I see death, dying, and decay! I'm just so fed up with it all!" He spilled out everything like an Elytra's eggs spill out of the ripe-smelling corpse on a summer's day.

"Then, kill yourself," I offered. Was there really any other way to go? He was definitely of Dementia, and the answer seemed clear.

"Have you seen those miserable souls on the Hill of Suicides? Do you think that kind of existence is any better than this? No. Someone else must kill me! Is it a crime to wish for death? If so, perhaps the new Duchess of Dementia can sentence me to death for my crimes! That's why I was hanging around the palace grounds. I hear Her dungeons are full. I hear She carves the detainees up carefully, one-by-one. Is there a way I can sign up for that?"

_He has heard of the happenings in the House of Dementia. I did not realize I was so popular._ He was so very rude in his speech though, apparently not realizing who he was in fact talking to. He might want death, but torture is so sweet as well. I wish I could find someone who could do me that service. Whoever he was, he was such a fine demented soul that I could not just let him expire here and now.

"What is your name, citizen?" I asked.

"Hirrus Clutumnus, I am. Or hopefully soon I can say that I_ was_ Hirrus. I'm just so miserable and nasty to everyone. And so is everyone else! So miserable that there's no point in even talking about it. Action must be taken. You must... I need you to kill me," he insisted, earnest. "But please! I don't want to see it coming. Take me unawares is all that I ask."

_Unawares, now? _"Hirrus, my good man, if you still fear death, perhaps it is not for you. Think of all those you will leave to mourn your untimely demise. It's so unfair for you not to take part in their pain." I placed an arm around his bent shoulder. "Your Lord, our Lord, Prince Sheogorath, who had invited you to life in his realm, the greatest gift he could give, and you defy him!" I said, gesturing in the direction of the grand palace. "Did Vexis Velruan not educate us on the beauty of pain? Did he not tell us to relish every moment that we feel pain for he can not longer take pleasure in it? He owed all of his being to Lord Sheogorath as well. '_Glory to Lord Sheogorath, for he has opened my eyes' _he said, did he not? You feel guilt for being aggressive or surly to your neighbor. Bah! _'Embrace what you are'_ is what Veluran insisted upon, no?"

I could see his eyes widen once again, and resolve flickered like a dying candle behind his eyes. Evidently I had touched on a text that he had heard of. "Perhaps… perhaps you are right, milady. I should embrace what it is I feel instead of wishing to escape it." He shrugged out of my grasp and turned to the city. "I should go home, and try to fulfill my duties as a man of Crucible. I will meet the glares of others with the glares of my own! I will learn to enjoy the pleasure of pain!"

"Oh, my dear," I replaced my arm around him. "pain is my _only _pleasure." I swept him off of his feet then and off of the ledge with a single push from a thunderous shock spell. The screams rang across the whole city, echoing off of the stone buildings that poked out of the ground. I found myself gasping in delights of all sorts as the symphony of shattering bones and splattering entrails resonated up into the air, though it took a moment or two for his body to make contact. I could smell his flesh sizzling for a brief moment from the shock. My heart seemed to give off little painful bursts of joy inside my chest as if it were trying to embrace itself. I few moments later I could smell blood; it was so splendid. It was always a familiar smell, even going back to the parts of my life that I weren't sure were even my own. In no way were those far away memories mine. There was a priestly man in those memories, gentle and doting. _In no way. _


	18. The Whispers And Their Masters

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. Italics represent a current thought.

Chapter Summary:

There are strange memories afoot in the head of the Duchess of Dementia. Having surrendered her memories of her life prior to her Dukedom to the her Lord, she ponders whether she had really existed in the Isles since the Dawn Era. Some new additions to her consciousness due to her Lord's gift makes functioning even in the Isles difficult and Hetalia wonders if these strange memories could perhaps be the memories of these tenants in her mind. As she treks through The Fringe she happens upon some strangely familiar surroundings, and a tiny voice urging her on.

These faraway memories had been plaguing my mind for some time now. I could remember them in drips and drabs, but never as one fluid memory. Perhaps I had come from somewhere else before I existed in the Isles. Everyone else seemed to. They came from The Fringe, and before then, who even could tell? I was sure that if I saw it, I would be able to remember everything. _Had I hailed from somewhere else?_ Occasionally someone would mention some strange place in passing, and at the mention of its name images would flood my mind as though all of the voices were speaking at once. At other times, they would crowd these memories out, as though I was forbidden to recall such things. Those who spoke directly to my mind were always so militant and full of ideas. They were The Whisperers. They constantly made me change my mind, my train of thought, even my current task. Sometimes we would fight and they would grasp a handful of my nerves and tug at them violently, making my body jerk wildly before heaving me to the ground like a tired marionette. When they weren't too violent the pain was actually pleasurable, but when too rough I was only distracted from it. It left me drained, so drained. Often I gave in, because it was so easy to give in. And it felt so much better when I did.

They couldn't have been trying to harm me or hide things from me. Their only task was to protect me, and I was rewarded when I allowed them to do their job.

Something still bothered me, though. Whose memories did I have? It was perhaps the memories of the Whisperers I was seeing, but then why were they constantly invading _my _thoughts? _But no. True, true,_ mine or not, these pictures were now my thoughts as they were forcing themselves on my own mind; I was not sure how much longer I could tolerate this inability to know my own thoughts. Since my Lord had given me these new eyes, things had progressively worsened. It wasn't just the Whisperers: in the darkest rooms in the dead of night, I could feel eyes on me. It was a blessing of madness, but it seemed to be too much to assimilate all at once. At this time I was supposed to be assembling troops to attack the forces of the Knights of Order that were growing in numbers by the day. But, I could not bring myself to do so. There was no way I could be an effective leader, torn apart by my own personal demons. They would surely cast me out of my own mind while in the heat of battle.

So instead I found myself trekking through The Fringe on foot as one tiny voice in the back of my mind cried out amongst the sea of voices to go back through the strange door. _Strange door?_ _What in this realm was not "strange" at first glance? _Things seemed familiar as I passed them, and that was all they really could seem to me. I never had strong recollections of having been in The Fringe, but certain landmarks, such as Xeddefen, seemed vaguely familiar. At the moment there was a rather pungent memory of a room of butterflies bouncing around in my brain, but even in the Isles, such a thing sounded preposterous.

I never found the room of butterflies, but there was a desk and chair waiting for me in the wilderness. And a metronome. _I have seen that before. Definitely. I have been here once before. Had it waited for me all of this time?_

I hadn't really realized just how severely I had been squinting until I thought to look up. Before me lay an enormous, purple portal which was swirling violently in spirals. I couldn't see what was on the other side of the portal from where I stood, but somehow it seemed just as familiar as the metronome. I could only hope that Mania did not lie on the other side.

I took a last longing, loving look around the Isles. No birds sang, but something grunted in the weather beaten landscape that had been ravaged by the Order. My thoughts quickly turned as a voice echoed 'traitor' through my head. I needed to leave here, for a while at least, in order to throw off the whispers. They couldn't possibly stalk me as they did from the other side of this portal. As I readied my step for what I was about to do, I knew Sheogorath would have my head. He already had my eyes. I knew I was deserting, and some echo in time alerted me that this wasn't my first offense.


	19. Revalations of Failure

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. Italics represent a current thought.

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia is spat back into Cyrodiil via the mysterious portal that had brought her to the Shivering Isles. She learns of the progress of the war on Oblivion and the fate of those she had once known. Ill at ease, racial tensions surface, leading to a rather explosive exit.

The stone face spat me out onto the damp ground. As I lifted up my head from the soil, I was taken aback.

"So, it's true, there lays a place outside of New Sheoth that has remained untouched by Order…" There were lush trees and rolling hills filled with long grass and wildflowers. There were farmers toiling in their fields on the coast and behind a thicket, standing proud and tall was a Chapel of the Nine. _A Chapel of the Nine?_ It had been so long, I almost did not recognize one when I saw it. I was in Cyrodiil. _Back _in Cyrodiil, to be more accurate. I was positive that I would remember! _Yes, this was the isle on which the mysterious door had appeared and the Madgod had spoken to me._ I looked at the massive, twisted face that housed the portal. Sheogorath would surely seek me out and chastise me for deserting Crucible and the Realm. I had to leave this place quickly. It was too close.

My paddle boat had been long gone, and all of the soldiers and mad folk had cleared the premises. There only remained a sign, warning explorers to continue only at their own peril. I couldn't help but laugh to myself. There was nothing within that was to be feared. Well, I do suppose the Knights of Order could be a bit unnerving, not to mention annoying and horrible conversationalists.

_Just how long have I been gone?_ I had taken off my finery and held it above the water as I swam to shore. It would take much too long for the island to drift to the mainland after all.

_ "There is no need for you here. You absence has only been a wrinkle in time. You're a useless deserter. Return before the Prince spurns you, too!"_

"Shut up, you! I am here for my own amusement and to relieve myself of you!" They were still here, the Whisperers. Their voices were fainter though, and more strained, as though it was more difficult for them to shout over such a long distance.

My hair was as thoroughly soaked as the rest of my naked body as I walked up onto the shore. There was no one to see my nakedness here, and as such I took my time before dressing. There was nothing here at all, save for an Aylied ruin in the distance. Nothing. _Even the camp is gone. They didn't wait for me, the bastards. Luck to them on their own then! I hope they all die._ I remembered training the county troops of the south. I remembered why I was here in the first place. _That damned monk had to lose that damned amulet. Martin could have lit the Dragonfires by this time and the crisis could have been over._ Martin. The Oblivion Crisis. Was it over? Who could tell? The skies looked as clear and certain as a cadaver's eyes. I could hear birds in the sky, singing. I wanted to it stop. It needed to stop. I was nearly on the brink of tears, it was all so disgusting. Now dressed, I charged out of the clearing. On foot. _My Dukedom for a horse._

_ Where will I go? There is so much light everywhere. All of the water is much too clear and the sun is entirely too bright. How can anyone live like this? _The sun was so hot it was boring through my skull. I could nearly hear the bone cracking. It was excruciating. The Whisperers were hurting, too. I needed a stiff drink. _Where are all of the inns? Have they been all burned to the ground? I have been walking for hours in the blasted heat so far for naught!_

_ "You have no where to go, dear Lady. Your home is far from here, and it is in danger. You leave all of your people in danger."_

"Their pain is a pain they would have enjoyed even if I was at my throne. They do not miss me. Stop it with your foolish banter!" They would not convince me to return to the Isles. Not now, not yet. Even if I had resolved to go back, I would not be able to bear the harshness of the day. My shield spells were strong, but not strong enough.

Just as I had reached my wits end I saw a little building at the side of the road. I had swum so far up the Niben that I had to actually backtrack to find the place. Its roof was wooly and fat. _A healthy building. Plump. Soon enough it will be ready to be sent to slaughter._

The door had been well used and swung open with the slightest push. The few people that were here were plain clothed. Excessively plain clothed. It completely lacked any kind of style, in fact. I almost felt overdressed. The Whispers reminded me that clothing reflected status, and clearly my status was higher than theirs. _To hell with all of them, then._

I lowered myself onto a barstool in the empty tavern. I kept my head down, beating my brains out for the Whispers to shut their traps and allot me a moment of defined peace. Instead of hearing their useless complaints, I was strangely interested in what I could hear the people around me say. I could only hope that their speech was not as uninspired as their dress.

"Welcome to the Faregyl Inn. I'm Abhuki, the proprietor. What can I get for you? Say, you're not from around here, are you? I can tell."

"A brandy, if you would." I kept my head down. She sounded cheery, and definitely a Khajiit, so she was doubly unworthy of my attention. The conversation the Imperial was having down the bar was decidedly more interesting, however. He was making a big commotion.

"…and then they say a pillar of light came from the Temple of the One. There was a crash and suddenly Akatosh Himself appeared and defeated Merhunes Dagon!"

"Merhunes defeated?" I whispered under my breath in awe. I shifted my eyes to watch his excited gestures. _And what of Martin?_

"When the guard searched the Temple later, Martin Septim was no where to be found. It seems Akatosh consumed the Amulet and him both. Extraordinary really, his sacrifice."

He was gone. _Nonsense. Lies. Cyrodiil cannot be without an emperor. The Elder Council must be hiding him for the time being. Yes._

_No. No, perhaps Akatosh claimed him to punish him for the impure acts he committed against me. Affection is an unforgivable poison. _"He wanted me out of his spotlight- that was it. He drove me right out of his stronghold; drove me mad, he did," I whispered.

_ "He made you leave the Temple. Forced your hand. He drove you to the brink. It was all his plan and you fell for it. It could have been your name on the lips of all the townspeople, instead of that sot. You can't trust them. Never trust a man with a sheathed sword."_

"Hush, now. I could have been his queen..," I retorted.

_ "You mean his jolly-time whore while his lady is away. Adultery was in his blood from his father. It's his birthright, you fool."_

_ And that was my birthright…The pain of truth…_

"Your brandy, my dear."

I had been so lost in thought, rather, my internal conversation, that I lost all composure when my drink was brought to me. She was a hairy thing, Abhuki, as I expected. _Damned house pets…_

She gasped. "Y-your eyes!" She tried to restrain her voice. "Are you alright?" I had a feeling someone would notice. Unlike here, everyone minded their own in the Isles.

Ignoring her, I drank the brandy like water. It burned, but it sure as hell worked better than any chapel healing at this rate. When I reopened my eyes, the Khajiit was still staring at me, holding plate of grapes. Her fat head would look lovely on that plate. I found my fingers itching for my knife, my sole explorer's tool. I had used it to take a tour of the human and elven body many times while in the Isles, but never a Khajiit, surprisingly. I was curious, and she was grating on my nerves by now. The room was empty, save for those with eyes…

"Can I help you?" I asked instead before gasping at the strength of the liquor. The Whisperers turned merry.

"_She looks like the type that loves a good chase. Ought to introduce her to Xalsem and Relmyna's hounds!" _They chuckled. _Relmyna always did know how to have a good time._

"Planning to speak? Open up your mouth or I'll carve your tongue out so that it might speak freely. I bet if my name were Sweetshare, your jaws would be flapping all the day long." _Is she really going to gawk at me until I leave? Such terrible etiquette for a hostess, really._

"I… I want you out." She stepped back before continuing. "I want nothing of your kind. Daedra worshippers… We've all had enough trouble."

"Daedra!" I leaned back on the stool, laughing. "No, no. The source of all your problems, really, you know what it is? The Altmer, that's right! And now you have one in your chancellor's seat. Problems? They're just starting!" Chancellor Ocato was bound to make a circus of the country. The Council had never needed to rule before. They were grossly unprepared. I could feel everyone's head turn to me. They knew, they knew the score, they weren't about to open their lips, though. None of them wanted to say it, but I couldn't keep it to myself. The only thing that made me any different was that I was willing to be the doomsayer. Nevertheless, I knew it was my time to leave. The patrons might stand idle around me, but the walls were very much displeased. I was beginning to understand what the madman, Amiable Fanriene, had been jabbering about. When the walls were displeased, you knew it. They wouldn't hesitate to come crashing down on you, either.

"And fuck the Twin Lamps!" I thundered before slamming the tavern door behind me. The Altmer may have been the source of the Empire's problems, Ocato, Camoran, and the lot, but the beasts were the source of my plight. They carry disease, and Skooma. _Oh, why didn't I listen?_


	20. Youth and Folly

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. Italics represent a current thought. ******This chapter is near completely written in italics in order to depict a flashback_ instead_ of a current thought, in this case.******

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **This chapter contains rape, though not overly graphic in nature. Reader discretion advised. This chapter does not advance plot but rather provides character background.

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia reflects on some of the events in her earlier days that led to her arrest. Bravil is unavoidably a shady town, and it was only a matter of time to get roped in with the whole lot. She realizes no good deed goes unpunished, and there are reasons why charity work is not always fully honorable…

* * *

"_Mum, I will be late! Can you not mend my socks later?"_

"_Nonsense. I will not have my child going around like some pauper with holes in her socks. Just a moment more." She was working over her lap, her needlework careful and sure._

"_Mother, I am not a child any longer!"_

"_Done!" She interrupted me. "Be on your way then. Heed what I said about the Argonians. Being a marauder is honest work where they come from."_

_Mother had insisted that I go to the Chapel of Mara to practice choir, but only the children of the pompous trash were part of the choir. I wanted to prove myself a true pilgrim by serving the Nine directly. I resolved to help those in need. The poor souls holed up the Skooma den above Carandial's house were the perfect candidates._

_I didn't like to tell mother when I was going up to the den. She always protested, but did little else. She worked long hours at the Lonely Suitor Lodge and my constant supervision was impossible. Now that I was coming of age, there was even less that she could do to hold me back. I was a blooming young woman. Besides, I had never run into any problems while visiting. Sometimes the "patrons" were a bit frightened, but they were never more than talk when acting aggressive._

_As I pushed the door open gently, the familiar woody smell, mixed with sweat, wafted out into the fresh air. Inside the men were raucous, as usual, casting lots and picking fights. One of the Khajiits must have brought a Skooma pipe from overseas, as smoke was thick in the air. The place also stunk like cat, but it was unavoidable._

_I had brought them a few loaves of bread from the Chapel pantry along with some sweet juices, though I never expected them to drink any of it. R'vanni was always happy to see me, although he was always so sheepish. I would offer him a loaf and a seat next to me so that we might talk about our day, but he never wanted to meet my eyes. The poor soul. He felt so unworthy._

_Oddly enough, Roxanne, the self-proclaimed "den mother" was not about today. Perhaps she had gotten mixed up with the law again and hauled off to the castle dungeon. It was a shame she never thought of joining the Thieves Guild. They could have helped her out of all the messes she got in. Perhaps she believed the talk of the guards who protested that the guild didn't exist. A shame, really._

_I tucked a loaf and a bottle in a drawer for Gellius. He always got hungry while having his fix. He was a prime example that money and status could not protect his soul. Surely he would need to visit the Chapel in order to free himself from this accursed addiction._

_There was a new face on the upper floor today. He sat on the edge of one of the beds, sipping his bottle with conviction. He was different than the others here. Here I had already thought I'd seen it all._

"_Why, hello, you're a new face. How are you enjoying the accommodations? A bit close quartered, I know, but I think it makes it… cozy. What's your name?" I smiled, holding my basket._

"_I'm J'zin-Dar. I only tell you so that you can tell everyone who it was when I'm done with you," he spat in between gulps._

"…_Pardon? My apologies." I dusted off my skirt. He seemed worse off than the rest and he made very little sense._

"_I said," he raised his voice. "Come here, kitten." His voice softened at these words. He patted the area on the mattress next to him. "A word with you," he purred._

_I sat next to him in the empty loft. I could hear the roof creaking and the noise from downstairs. I began to take out a loaf of bread. Perhaps I could get to know him over lunch._

"_Kitten, we don't need that. Put that silly thing away."_

_I bit my lip and knitted my eyebrows before turning to face him. "Might I eat, though? I have not yet lunched and I'm famished."_

"_You are a fool, kitten. Where did they get you from?" My eyes cased the room. No one else was around. I began to feel threatened. None of the other residents had been this rude to me before. He pulled me onto his lap, forcing me to straddle him. "How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?" I couldn't move. I stared him in the face, like a deer facing a hunter's arrow. "Still a kitten and sent out to play with the big cats." I could feel something rising up beneath me. I had to consciously begin to struggle. I was frightened; too frightened to struggle very much. He held me down with a single arm. I could see the muscle welling up beneath the fur on his arms. I tried to call out for help, but my voice was hoarse._

_I felt something push against me. He must have worked his trousers down in my frantic struggle. I was about the scream, but he pushed his dirty paw against my mouth and used the other to hold me where he wanted me. As much as I resisted, he pushed me onto him._

_I cried, I screamed behind my muffled lips. No one could hear me. The noise from below was entirely too loud. Perhaps R'vanni would have saved me if he could hear. It was impossible. Something hurt more than it should have. It hurt more than the initial pain. It was like daggers grating up and down my walls. I pushed against his chest, trying to force myself away from him. I couldn't. It was futile. I beat on his chest to the point of exhaustion. My body was slowly giving way to him, making it easier. I wanted to refuse. I wanted to bite, to scream, to kill him. My cries were for naught. I looked at him with disgust and bubbling tears. The Nine preserve me! But, his pace began to slow. I was gasping for breath._

"_You are a pretty kitten, but you're starting to bore me." He pushed me off, sending me reeling to the floor. "I've had my fun. Run along now."_

_I could only run. I couldn't spit at him, couldn't strike him, and couldn't cry assault. I ran clear out of the place without looking back._

_I never went back for visits on Chapel business again. I did make Skooma runs to and from the den as a favor to S'krivva, though. She had some kind of guild business or other and needed someone like me to help her get the residents their supplies. In Bravil, you never ask where things come from. As far as the den, I never went in. My only contact inside the den was Roxanne, who received my smuggled packages at the door. I was a messenger and nothing more, but I was living on borrowed time and eventually, if I kept this up, I was bound to be caught by the guard._

_When mother found out about the Khajiit, she said I had been spoilt. Only prostitutes allowed themselves to be taken by beastfolk. She threatened me with the prospect of her fate, which was that of a lonesome woman, her romance confined to the four walls of a room at the lodge. Just like her, I would only be loved on nights when another woman's husband could manage to sneak away from home. I cried bitterly for several nights thereafter._

That was years ago…


	21. Rules of Engagement

Author's Notes:

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. Italics represent a current thought.

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia approaches Castle Skingrad with the intention to garner comradery and aid for The Fringe, but deals with the steward in a most uncourtly manner. Count Skingrad and Duchess Crucible threaten one another's lives before reaching a stalemate. Glarthir offers some shiny incentive for help with his Marukhatis, but his situation is met with fervor different from his own. Finally, a shrouded man comes in the night bearing tidings and opportunities… In all cases, the Rules of Engagement still apply.

* * *

I could see Skingrad's high walls rolling over the hilltops as I grew closer. I had been here before too, somewhere in time, to perform one errand or another. The walls were well fortified, more than other cities, it seemed. The sun was setting, which threw a nasty glare up into my eyes, but did not cause the insufferable pain that full sun did. Soon it would be night, and hopefully it would begin to rain before the next daybreak. Soon enough I would be free to romp around the city in the brooding night. It was as close to my lovely Crucible as I would get outside of the realm.

It was a strangely constructed town, with bridges all about as though it were prone to flooding. It was refreshing at the very least, but I had difficulty finding my way around the city.

"Wait! Wait! You there!"

_The Whispers, again. _"Let me be, damn you! You have caused enough—" But there was someone coming to my side, their hair wisped up and lacquered with sweat. _A Nymph, here? No, only a Bosmer._

"You, you are the Hero of Kvatch, are you not?" _What on Nirn…? _I had only heard the title once, but could not remember where. There had been light, but no color. Sound, but no shapes. It was a dream-like memory. "_You are the Hero of Kvatch… or should I say, Heroine." On whose lips had these words been?_

I stared at him; it was all I could do. His rectangular face beaming as he stared at me, hopefully. He had come rushing at me straight from his home, as he had left his door ajar. "Berry-picker, what is your business with me? You have not brought me the Congealed Putrescence I requested, have you? So unreliable."

"Shh, we cannot talk here. Meet me behind the Chapel at midnight. I have a very important proposition for you- a very profitable proposition. Come alone!" At that he scurried off just as he had come. I wasn't sure what to make of him, the strange little bug. His mood was familiar, though. Unnerving. _What could he possibly have to offer a Duchess? This I must see._

When I could finally concentrate on the bustling city around me, I had realized that I was wandering about in what looked like the castle courtyard. It would only be proper for me to make acquaintances with the Count. Perhaps he would even offer to send aid to New Sheoth and the Fringe. He had definitely heard of the citizens' plight! That would beyond doubt calm my Lord's nervous mind! Surely I would be welcomed with open arms, as a fellow member of a governing body. There were still certain rules of engagement that must be observed, however. I would have to go and seek the Count's Steward.

The main room of the castle was elegantly appointed, but quite empty. Had the Count already finished his hours and retired? Nobility worked so little in Cyrodiil! _If only I had been appointed in this land_. There was a lone Argonian surveying the lobby in finely made linens. It was so very odd to see a lizard so well dressed, but perhaps she had been raised by Imperials and taught some manners.

"I seek an audience with the Count, is he about? We have a matter of alliance to discuss." She looked at me oddly when I approached her. She refused to meet my eyes. "Do not fear, my eyes only look, they do not touch, dear. Pray answer so that they do not seek you while you slumber."

"I'm Count Skingrad's steward, Hal-Liurz. I was not told to expect you, Lady…?"

"Duchess."

"I'm afraid the Count does not accept unsolicited visitors. I apologize for the inconvenience, Duchess." What an ugly thing. Her father might have been a Scalon. She tried to beg my pardon and leave but I could not allow it.

"It is critical that I speak with him. My people require aid."

"Pray you, where lies your throne, dear Lady?" She seemed to begin to grow tired of my pressing plea. I knew it couldn't last. All of her backwoods bush-learning was coming to the surface. Always did.

"I hang my hat in Crucible, District of Dementia." I nodded.

"Never heard of it." She ducked my stare. "Count Hassildor is a very private person. I handle all the county's public affairs, and consult with the Count when necessary. I will tell him you came by, Duchess."

"Nonsense! You insolence is most unheard of! I feel eyes! I'd bet a shiny septim he is amongst us." I shoved her to the floor. "Pray you come out, your Excellence! Your Steward is most discourteous! In my House she would be hanged and eviscerated! Must I show you?" I was getting all riled up, I was. I was a bit excited to have fire on my tongue. I almost hoped the Count wouldn't show. I ached to exercise my power. My palms itched.

"What business do you have in my court? Hal-Liurz, are you unharmed?"

"Right as rain, my Count," she said as she stood up and dusted off her sleeves.

"Count!" I spun around to face him with a courtly smile. He was standing at the balcony, in shadow, with a serious face plastered across his head. He looked almost as serious as Herdir, but at least he smiled before the cage of a captive. This man was stolid and sane. _This will be most difficult. _"It is so good of you to come out after hours. There is a looming threat in my land. I come to introduce myself as well as seek aid."

"I have already sent aid to Bruma in the past. My troops have been greatly reduced since that battle. What is the threat of which you speak?"

"My Count, only the worst threat. The threat of Order plagues my land!" I advanced in his direction. I began to ascend the staircase. The Steward stood by the wayside. "My madmen fear its Knights more than the blessed wrath of our mighty Lord!"

"You make a fool of me and my court," he hissed. "Begone!" He began to storm his way back to his bedchamber.

"I bid you listen, my Lord." I came further up the steps. As my steps quickened, he turned to meet my eyes, only a few feet between us. _What was this? I have never seen such a strange countenance—not even my own._ "A most curious face you have, Count."

"As is yours, Duchess."

"I did not know I had sought an audience with a child of Molag Bal. Had I known, I would have brought a wooden panacea along."

The Count's body seemed to stiffen, as though he wasn't stiff enough. The chorus of Whisperers came to life once again. _"A perfect creature—an unholy wonder. He must be the bane of his ancient mother. I wonder if he witnessed the Dragon Break?" _They cackled. _"Ought to drain him and sell his blood. He perhaps drains virgins in his bedchamber. Ask him how he does it! Ask him how! That would be something to see!"_

"Leave me and my city. If you are not gone by dawn or you continue to pester my Steward, I will have you dealt with. You are most unwelcome here."

"You manner makes me feel so at ease my Count. It is too bad you spend your days holed up in your castle bleeding virgins. Tell me, how _do _you do it? Are the fangs of your father enough or do you drain them with instruments? The daylight will come for you, and your cursed body will burn delightfully!" I tried to continue with these pleasantries for their own sake, but it did not seem as though the Count was taking kindly to it. _He should feel blessed that I do not cook him here and now! This abomination—bloodthirsty and mean-eyed. Vampires are never sated and can never be trusted. How can anyone allow him to rule? I'd cut him up if I could, but I mustn't! I am coming to him as a Lady and a Lady I shall be. To the end!_

"I ought to have you killed this moment for you behavior. Are you mad?"

"My Lord, killing me would be most unwise, for that would raise suspicions of you! I entreat you to forgive me if I have insulted you. I'll have you know I intend to fully abide by the rules of engagement. You, too, are familiar with them, are you not? Discourse between you and I is most confidential. It would be entirely too discourteous to you if I were to exchange your secret with others over a pint, or if I were to, say, end you." _Am I mad, you ask? I am a madwoman of my Lord, you fool!_

The Count looked at me long and hard. _The scoundrel. _"I do not doubt in the possibilities of other realms outside of our own, however, they have only caused trouble in the past and I will not entertain any sort of idea of lending aid. I hope that this answer will be satisfactory to you and that we can…maintain a good business relationship. However," He gestured towards me. "I wish not for the involvement in the affairs of Daedra."

"Dear Count, I no longer deal with Daedra, I assure you."

"…or the affairs of their Princes and courts," he continued.

"My Prince will never seek an audience with you, Count. I come to you only as a Duchess, not an envoy. We will remain as separate as the cells of a prison. Might I venture to believe that neither of us has need to fear for our lives tonight?"

"I fear not for my life, but only my integrity. I will not have my name dragged through the streets. Nevertheless, you are free to go, but stay not until the following evening," he warned me. "Else I will find you, and that is all you need know. I can see there is a madness in your eye that poisons your mind, but even if it is only as a Duchess that you are a woman of your word, I believe I can bank on that for the time being. Your reputation is important to you, too."

"I take my leave of you then. Argonian, I hope you did not suffer many wounds. Thank you for your time, Count. By the by though, you needn't hide it from me, I know what you are thinking." I eyed him from the great double doors. " 'She is mad, and no one will believe a breath of what she says anyhow.' I may want to gut you, but I am a woman of my word, Count. Do not doubt it."

I felt a twinge of guilt having lied to the count. I never did regard myself as a woman of my word, at least as far as I can remember. The truth was I couldn't care less about his condition. I would not get any rise out of exposing his secret, and the amount of chaos that would be wrought by his murder was too problematic to even want to imagine. He was untouchable, as much as I hated immortal blood-drinkers, and I would have to be satisfied with that. _I'm not sure why they're so awful, really. The premise of vampirism is so interesting. It must have been from long ago… those fuzzy memories._

It was nearing midnight, and I was supposed to meet the tiny lumberjack behind the chapel soon. _Why, of all places, does he want to meet at the chapel? Does he not know that all of the crazy-folk congregate there? _I made my way to the back of the chapel. There was a cool wind blowing in through the alleyway that was created between the chapel and the city wall. It must have been the darkest corner of the whole city. No wonder no beggars slept here, the walls were nearly surrounding them at all sides!

As I made my way to the darkest crevice, I found myself growing impatient. Rather, the Whisperers were getting rowdy. _"Who did that little man think he was, calling you to this alley in the middle of the night? Does he not have any manners? And to call you the Hero of Kvatch, what nonsense is that? The wench died a long time ago. She drowned herself in the Niben. He should pay for calling you a dead woman. My, I believe that is a threat! A threat to the head of the House of Dementia! Why, I'd say that warrants execution!" _I found myself grasping the sides of my head. They were entirely too loud and excited. I needed them to calm themselves so I could think. I had to stop in my tracks.

Amongst the sea of cries and shouts that rocked my skull, I could vaguely recall a bottle I had picked off a highwayman on my way here. It was a small purple bottle. I had seen it before, perhaps when I was young. Skooma, I think it was.

"I believe I still have it on me." To speak aloud was the only way that I could manage to think. It was a powerful and illegal narcotic. I had seen what it could do. _Perhaps, perhaps it could muster up some relief for me._ I brought the small bottle up to my eyes in the darkness. I wriggled the cork loose with a hushed _pop_. I lifted the bottle to my mouth and sipped the foul-smelling liquid.

I gagged a bit.

It was much too strong, but it seemed to distract one of the Whispers, so I knew what I must do. I pressed the bottle to my lips and did my best to drink it quickly without tasting it. I couldn't help but convulse a bit at the harshness of the liquor. After it had gone down, though, I felt already as if I were enjoying its effects.

I rounded the corner with more confidence, the Whispers hushed. I could see the small Bosmer huddled against the stone walls of the chapel. I was half surprised that he had even shown up. He deserved to die after all. _He called me a dead woman. That was a threat!_

"Did—Did you come alone? No one followed you? You're sure?" He asked, excitedly. His eyes darted all around his space. They were so distracting that I wanted to stay them with my hand.

"No one followed me. Now state your business, Bosmer."

"I thought I could trust you. After all, you're the Hero of Kvatch. I'm the only one that knows, though. I was up there at the time of the attack. I saw your assault on the Great Gate." His narrative was a stew of whispers all running into one another. I felt almost as though I was talking to myself. I hated him already, I could tell.

"Your business if you would, fool!"

"Calm yourself, I was just getting to that. You see, everyone in town is watching me. It wasn't until recently that I've surmised who. I need you to do something for me… I'll pay you gold. That is suitable payment for you, I imagine?"

"What if I said gold does not interest me?"

"I, uhh… I'm not sure then. I did not anticipate anyone refusing payment in _gold_." He began to wring his hands and his eyes began to dart around again. I could not bear it. He was beginning to remind me of someone else who had issues with conspiracy. Another thing that I cannot bear are those preoccupied with the fear of conspiracy.

"Elf, I will take you gold payment, only stop moving about with such nervousness!"

"Y-Yes. I need you to watch some of my neighbors… They see me as a threat, you see? I think they might be Marukhati selectives, you know, from the Alessian Order. One neighbor in particular…"

I couldn't bring myself to listen. I was staring Syl in the face. _Yes, she believed everyone was trying to kill her. Perhaps that was true, but her betrayal started it all! She deserved to die for consorting with Mania! I can't bear it; I can't bear it. This must stop. I cannot…! _I could not harm him, though. There were rules of engagement. You don't kill a client, or an envoy from another county. One must hear them out and either accept or reject the contract.

"_He threatened you! He threatened you!" _I could hear the Whisperers screaming in the far reaches of my mind. _Hadn't I shut them up?_ I found myself of the ground again, clutching my head for fear it would split apart.

"Hero…Are…are you alright? Have they poisoned you? By the Nine!" The Wood Elf crouched down beside me, causing the Whisperers to scream even louder, and egg me on.

"I am fine…But… There is something you must know."

"Y-Yes?"

"Lady Syl, you must know that the Hero of Kvatch died a long time ago." Silently, I freed my silver dagger from its holding place. _Could Syl still live in this Bosmer? She intended to drive me to suicide, but I would not have it._

"Lady Syl? Who is….?"

"The Hero drowned herself in the Niben for fear of the war. Her body was never found. For claiming me to be her, you insult me to the highest degree." I plunged the knife into the unexpecting fleshy pod. I could feel the warm blood pour out onto my hands. In the silence and the darkness, I almost let free an audible moan. The Bosmer simply began to convulse and hiccup and blood poured from his lips. I placed a hand over his mouth as he gagged. I spoke slowly and with great care. "Shh… There is a lesson to be learned here. In the end, paranoid fears of conspiracy only create more enemies. You should thank me. You get to see your blood while it is still warm, a beautiful sight." I twisted the knife inside his gut. He let out a feeble little groan before falling dead.

I couldn't resist the urge to explore him. Bosmers were strange creatures—everything on them was in miniature. As far as belongings went, he had little on him, aside from his house key. Perhaps I'd pay a visit when I was done. The cuts I had made were not as precise as I would have liked, but they served their purpose wonderfully. In the stab wound I had created, I noticed it had only punctured the stomach, it seemed, which was not of much interest to me, anyhow. His ribs were tiny, and his intestines were tiny, too. His muscle tissue was smooth. He was a work of art.

When I had finished, I dragged him into as sitting position against the chapel wall. If he was so ill favored around here as he thought, then it wouldn't be a travesty if he were found dead.

I found his home rather easily, under the guidance of the Whisperers, who could barely be quieted, even with Skooma. The inside of his home surprised me. It was very neat, impeccable, in fact, and not at all what I had expected from him. His name had been Glarthir, I had surmised. He had written the name in several of his books. That was of course, granted that he did not steal them from someone else.

He had books piled everywhere in fact. They were of all kinds. _This much reading may very well be poisonous for the mind. _He had a very nice collection of skulls on his bookshelf on the ground floor. Hourglasses, too. I could have stayed and admired them for some time, but I tried to force myself to keep looking. The Whisperers were getting impatient with me. They wanted to linger on things longer. I would not please them. I would do my best to disappoint them until they left me.

There was a small door near the fireplace that seemed to lead to the basement. It was locked, but nothing that a simple spell couldn't undo. I scanned the large wooden table in what seemed to be his basement workshop. An excellent place in fact, as there were no windows. He had some papers scattered about, but nothing of real interest.

"_Read them! Read them!" _They insisted. The man was stark mad. It was almost too bad he was dead, otherwise Sheogorath would have wanted to give him Thadon's position. Glarthir was quite the wine drinker it seemed. His keg was full and his wine rack well supplied. The Whisperers were beginning to make my head ache once again, so I liberated a bottle of Surilie wine. I wouldn't say it was an exquisite wine, but it began to soften up the pain in my head.

The more I searched the house the groggier I seemed to become. The Surilie wine was more than half done by the time I made it to his bedroom on the third floor. It was still pitch dark outside from what I could see. I needed some sleep. I figured I would put my self up in his place for the night. It seemed quite poetic, after all.

I tried to focus on my face in the reflection of the window. It was hideous to say the very least. If my eyes could look bloodshot behind their amber glow, they definitely did. My eyes had grown increasingly dark since the last time I had cared to look at them. They ached. I was so tired. It was times like this that I wished I could crawl up inside the gutted bodies I had left behind. Like an Elytra, perhaps I could be born again, beautiful and young, unmarred by time and its trials. The Whisperers seemed to nod off to sleep, and I began to as well. I felt like a new mother, trying to pick up scraps of sleep here and there when the children were asleep.

The room grew cold. I was beginning to get worried; however I could not rouse myself from sleep. Perhaps it was only a draft or the after effects of a strange dream. _No. Someone is definitely here, beside my bed. _I snapped my eyes open and reached for my dagger at my bedside. _It's gone._ My eyes flew around the room in the dark. There was nothing to be seen.

"For a cold-blooded killer, you don't sleep very soundly. Your dreams are without remorse, though, and that's good. I have a proposition for you." I heard a voice. Was it one of the Whisperers? This was a throaty voice; a new voice. It must have been inside my head, for the room seemed empty. I could only press the sides of my head and scan the room again, trying to remain composed. "Do you prefer silence, then? As do I, though I must speak to you now." Suddenly, there was a face in the darkness, though shrouded in shadow. A man. I sat on the edge of the bed and lit a candle. The man did not stop me and instead stepped aside for me. I could see him better now. "It is ironic, actually that I come to you now as a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. The Night Mother is calling your name; she has sent me to fetch you." _The Dark Brotherhood? I've heard of them. _I imagined them to all be murderous brutes, but this man, could he possibly be a gentleman? However, a gentleman did not break into a lady's room at night, much less a lady of the court's room.

"Do you not knock? I do not hold court until eight. If you are a gentleman then you should know better than to disturb a Lady in her private quarters." _Why hadn't my Seducers stopped him_? They would all have to be punished for their failure.

"You grow comfortable rather quickly, Lady. You make your victim's bed your own." _Oh, that's right. I'm in that Bosmer's house. In Skingrad. In Cyrodiil. _Here I had thought I was in New Sheoth yet."If I might continue: like I said, I have a unique opportunity for you. I am Lucien Lachance." I could show him the hospitality of my court even here. The rules of engagement still applied and were always of the utmost importance.

I stood up from my bed. For a moment before hearing his name, I had thought this man was an Imperial, but no, in the faint light I could see this man was definitely Breton.

"Monsieur Lachance, enchanté." I held my hand out to him, which he, like a gentleman, pressed his lips to. There was yet a shred of chivalry in this world. I gestured over the railing of the loft to a pair of seats on the floor below. "I pray you continue, Mr. Lachance, if you'd please have a seat."


	22. Murder, Made to Order

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Help me make a necklace! Show me that you want a new chapter!

Chapter Summary:

The Night Mother has spoken, and death is following closely behind. Hetalia signs her name in poison on the Dark Brotherhood's family tree. From the death of Rufio something else has occurred: a birth. The birth of an artist.

* * *

There was only a single flame which licked the outlines of the stranger's face in the dim room.

"Why have you come to me? What is this proposition you have?" He had refused to sit, so I had to stare up at him in the flickering candlelight.

"The Night Mother bids you to join our dark family. She has watched you kill here and in places unknown and she is most pleased. It is art. Your knife- your brush, the victim- your canvas, their blood- the paint. Since childhood most recruits have suckled malice and pain before joining. You however, once enjoyed the quickly spoilt milk of kindness and earnestness, but have adjusted well and quickly. Most impressive. Forgive me, for I begin to get carried away… Because of your talent I am here to offer you an opportunity."

"To join you? The Dark Brotherhood? Your Mother is most interested in me it seems, but of what advantage is my membership to myself?" Somehow I couldn't help but be wary of this handsome man. I wonder what hid beneath his dark robes. It had been so long. I held up the collar of my gown. I had apparently loosened my corset before lying down and my breasts now threatened to tumble out.

He pretended not to notice them. "My dear child, profit at the very least. You will enjoy the company of like-minded individuals. You will also enjoy the same services as any other guild—and so much more. You need only to sign your name."

"Then tell me what I must do, Mr. Lachance. Daylight quickens." He actually made a motion then to seat himself. It was so abrupt that it had caused me to jump in my chair.

"The Night Mother has heard the cry of Her people and commands you to go to the Inn of Ill Omen. You are familiar with the area, I suppose? The old man in the basement must die. This is your initiation. When completed, I will come to you again with further instructions."

"I do not know how I feel about being told who must die. Some are not worth the time it takes to get it right. However, a chorus of septims will perhaps tell me how I feel… My knife seems to have left me," I looked at him from one of the corners of my eyes. "Might I have a pen?" I saw him reach for something beneath his robes before pulling out a small leather-bound box.

"I do have a gift for you, actually. A gift from your new family." He opened the box. "It's finely crafted, a virgin blade, in fact. It cries out for blood. Do your best to sate it." The dagger was ornate, shiny, and new. The level of detail in yellow gold was most exquisite. One of the Whisperers was moaning lecherously. _I suppose he is grateful that we have a new plaything._

"The most dangerous are the virgins…" I received the box and eyed him suspiciously. "The longer they are forced to restrain, the fiercer the first cut. Things can become messy rather quickly, and they don't know when to stop."

"Such is the beauty. Put on a good show." He got up to leave, the wooden chair creaking as it slid a few inches across the floor.

"Monsieur Lachance, before you take your leave, I pray you remain a moment longer that I might gaze upon your countenance." He looked back in a way that seemed reluctant. _What an odd man._ "It is not very often that I happen upon a young and handsome Breton man. Especially with an appreciation for such… art. We live in a country full of mongrels; you and I exist as pearls cast before swine." He was a scruffy, rugged, man. "Adieu for now, Monsieur Lachance. I will see you again."

At that, he took his leave of me.

I could smell him. I could smell the rotting stench of molding Camlorn cheese on his breath from the other side of the door. I didn't think I would be much excited to have to abide by specifics when it came to such a situation, but I had really riled myself up on the way here. The Nord upstairs was fast asleep behind the counter and was not even roused when I came in. The man for which I had come had to be beyond this door, for there was no one but a Redguard staying upstairs, dumb in her slumber. I looked down to see the shiny hilt of the virgin dagger glisten between the cleavage of my breasts. The blade seemed to pulsate, itching for that very first penetration. I would not allow it.

Murder—what it commonly was called—was art. There was magic, irony, even pleasure in it. In fact, very much so. Murder was life made beautiful such as a lump of clay is sculpted with a steady hand and precise cuts. This was the consummation of knife and flesh, a blessed event and a sacrament in itself. It was not the unbridled thrusting of a blade through a pincushion. By Sheogorath, that only amounted to rape.

A tray of porridge and beer had been left beside the door, presumably for the man who lay inside. Perhaps he had slept through dinner, or expired in his sleep. It would be such a waste if he had. I lifted the tray from the ground. _A last meal is only appropriate. It would be a shame to waste._

Inside, the room was nearly as dark as the hallway preceding it. I did my best to remain quiet as I approached the bed, but the Whisperers screeched into my ears, making such a task difficult.

"_Carve out his intestines with your teeth!"_

"_Eviscerate him!"_

"_Tear off his testicles and let him bleed out! Haha!"_

_The scum… this scum is Breton! _ A waste of life entirely. His existence sullies the name of myself and all others that share my race. Not only had he killed a woman in a struggle of sexual assault, but he expected his own demise and holed himself up in this shithole. He feared his death—he could not even revel in his crime. _Can I pity this man?_ _No, no, I cannot. However, I can take him unawares. It's what Hirrus would have wanted._

After necessary preparation, I came closer to the bedside, where the old man lay sleeping. He was nearly motionless, though his brow hung heavily over his eyes. Unrelaxed. I sat at his bedside. This would indeed be a good show. I rested the tray on my lap with great care. _If he weren't breathing I'd think him dead._ I began to rouse him from his sleep.

"Sir, sir, wake up. You went and slept through your dinner, you did. You need to eat, sir, keep your strength up." I avoided his eyes preemptively. I couldn't give myself away. The illusion…the illusion was everything. From beneath my eyelashes, hidden below my bangs I could see his eyes flutter open. First there was fear; he awoke with a start. The pungent stench of molding cheese wafted up into my face. I had to turn away.

"My, I slept straight through. I must be getting on in years…" He sat up in bed. I busied myself in straightening my skirt as to not make eye contact. "I attract the ladies still, though," he chuckled to himself. "And here I had been nervous."

"_Rightfully so, for you are for whom the bell tolls!"_

"Oh sir, what have you to be nervous about? You're handsome and strong yet. I'm quite privileged to be serving you." I stirred the porridge around in the bowl. I lifted a spoonful upward. "Might I?" I stared just below his gaze. "Before it grows cold." He received the spoon in his putrid mouth and swallowed, smacking his lips and smiling a toothless grin.

"_Ask him! Ask him! Did he take her or did he have to kill her first? Was she still warm?"_

"Hush," I spat at them.

"Such a lovely young thing," he took another spoonful. I could feel him reaching for my face. "No need to be shy, dear. Let this old man see your pretty young face." In feigned modesty I jerked away. I could feel his cold, wrinkled hand that had fallen to my swollen breast. The virgin dagger had long since been hidden.

"_Did she scream? Did she cry out? How did he kill her?"_

"You embarrass me, sir," I did my best to blush, but did not remove his hand. His touch became deliberate. "Please, if you would." I hurriedly produced another spoonful and lifted it to his lips. He would not take it. _Fair enough. He wouldn't need any more. _

"_How did he do it? Did she scream?" _Would they not allow me a moment of solitude while I worked? They were absolutely insatiable.

His hand slinked down onto the larger part of my bust. "Please, I am young and unmarried… I am on my way to find a husband in the big city. The Nord upstairs said he'd give me fifty septims to raise your spirits."

"If I was a little bit younger, I trust you'd be raising much more than just my spirits, young miss."

"_Did she scream? Did she scream? Did she scream?"_

He gave me a squeeze, his balding white head a biting eyesore. _Just a moment more._

"Oh, you flatter me…" I placed a gentle hand on his knee. "Tell me," I lifted my eyes to him. I could take no more. "Did she scream?"

He seemed to be taken aback. As he shuddered, I could almost feel his heart seize up. _Was it my eyes or my words? _His eyes were wide. It was a shame he could not speak. In the dim candlelight his frame looked frail. He was an old man, but a lecherous old thing. The hand that once cupped my breast now clung to his throat. _Oh yes, he sees my deception._

"I hoped you wouldn't notice the chokeberry mixture straightaway. Now, tell me, did she scream? They must have an answer!"

"….demon," It was all he could muster as he sucked in air against his own body's will. The fear in his eyes was erotic. It was no doubt that he could feel the peppery thorns sprouting up in his lungs. He wouldn't struggle much longer. It was a shame that I hadn't picked a poison that might cause him to linger a bit more.

"My, such a way to address nobility. Such an insult to Bretony you are. Sleep now, I'm done with ye." I pushed him backward onto the mattress as his heart slowed. He gasped a few more times before expiring. My attention was quickly drawn away and my eyes began to involuntarily case the room. I stood up, sending the silver tray and all upon it tumbling from my lap and onto the floor with a clang. Someone was here, so I could not longer be. _Where are they? I cannot see them, but they must be about. They're here. I know it. I will not be deceived! Has the innkeeper awoken? There was no struggle to hear—he died quietly._

"_He will call the guards and they will come for you. They'll kill you without a word!"_

_Hardly. I could destroy them with the batting of my eyelashes. Impossible._

"_They'll bring a fine battlemage to silence you. Perhaps your precious 'family' themselves will stalk you and kill you. Anyone can pray to the Night Mother, as you have heard. She does not discriminate."_

"I will do well by them. They will not have occasion for such-"

"_Make yourself scare, you fool!" _They howled.

I cloaked myself in darkness and made my escape. A time such as this was not opportune for a war of words.

I swore I would not rest until Skingrad, but instead I found myself being put up in The Sleeping Mare in a little shantytown called Pell's Gate along the Red Ring Road. I had to argue with the innkeeper, some Imperial, for some time. She was deranged, insisting she had no rooms for rent when she plainly had some available accommodations. Finally she gave in when a patron reminded her that she did in fact have an empty room.

By the time I had made it up to my room, the Whisperers were knocking around all sides of my brain, chattering so as to crowd out my own thoughts. They reprimanded me for taking too long for the kill, for not tearing him up or carving him like a fine game bird.

"_So boring you are. You're losing your touch, we think, Duchess. A shame it's so soon. We may have to retire you."_

"You would be lost without me, fools. Who else do you know of that takes you all on such nice outings? You cannot desert me no more than I can rid myself of you all. Hush, now. I intend to sleep." But they drabbled on about the accommodations, the curtains, the dampness, the lack of excitement the death of the old man created. There were no spirits for purchase that might aid me, for this town was a dry as Red Mountain. I hadn't a drop of Skooma left either. I was at a loss. I lay down and prayed for sleep to come.


	23. Pleasantries and Carnalities

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

***Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Help me make a necklace! Show me that you want a new chapter! I want to hear what you guys have to say! Winter break is coming up and I'm looking to write for YOU!***

Chapter Summary:

Rufio lies dead. In due time, Hetalia makes her way to Cheydinhal, but feels that she is being followed. Thoughts of paranoia seemingly for naught, she gets a fix and proceeds to the Sanctuary where she is greeted by the oddest assortment of murderers. After being educated in the intricacies of the Void, perhaps Lucien will attempt to reinforce such a lesson…?

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"_Rufio is dead. You have proved to be most artistic in your manner of murder. A bloodless kill is not without its beauty. You are an actress even. With a little grooming perhaps you will grow to be indispensable. For now, greet your new life and family, for now is the time to travel to the Cheydinhal sanctuary. Look for the abandoned house and proceed to the basement where you will find a black door. Do not forget, when the Brotherhood is about the color of night is decidedly sanguine, dear sister. This sanctuary is the home of those brothers and sisters which I have inducted myself. They will be expecting you and you will do well to listen to their advice. Go now, knowing that the eyes of the Black Hand are upon you. I will be monitoring your progress closely. Do not disappoint me."_

I was not sure if it had been a dream or a genuine visitation from that Breton in black while I slept, but I figured it best to heed the instructions. The Whisperers swore they weren't having a bit of fun with me. They instead insisted that they had been sleeping themselves the entire time. It made sense: only if they had been asleep would they have remembered not remembering the visit. _Yes._ This journey had taken a week and as such, if they valued whatever semblance of a hide they had, they would know not to send me on a quest as worthy as installing stairs in a mage tower.

Outside the gates of Cheydinhal it was terribly sunny even for the late afternoon. Upon entering the city, everyone seemed still so cheerful. Did they not know an old man had been poisoned along the Green Road? Murder abounded, I supposed. Neighbor would turn on neighbor and lovers would claw at one another like wraiths in due time. It was a blessed cycle, and perhaps this was one of the places that fully understood that cycle and welcomed it. Perhaps there was some familiar remnant of the Isles yet to be found in Cyrodiil. If only they hadn't been so damned helpful. To this type of "hospitality" I was most unfamiliar.

I could have hurried to the sanctuary, but it seemed too easy—the journey had gone much too smoothly. Someone was perhaps following me, knowing my destination, in hopes of me leading them to the sanctuary. If I was to breed trust among my new comrades, I could not allow a spy to infiltrate on my first visit.

I would wait in a pub until dark. It seemed best. If anyone were following me along the way, they would surely be thrown off if I lingered in any one place for too long. They would grow bored and move along, thinking they must be mistaken. _Yes._ In spite of all that made its life's work to drive me mad, I would still uphold my sanity of mind and quality of judgment. _Yes._

I managed to chat up the townspeople regarding which bar they preferred. Of those that would answer me, most of them had plainly said to steer clear of the Newlands Lodge for it was a Dark Elf bar. All of the "shady types" frequented that venue, I learned. I wasn't too keen on Dark Elves and their stuffy speech and House wars, but such a place seemed more likely to serve the variety of liqueur I required. The Cyrodiillic Brandy sipped across the street was likened to weak rat piss compared to what I needed. I resolved to sate my curiosity and find myself a seat at the bar in the Lodge.

There was clearly not enough air in the damned place. The loud sounds smashed into my ears and through to my brain upon entry. It was like millions of tiny bugs were running all about or buzzing around in the air, creating an inhumanely loud chorus. It made me itchy even. They were crawling on me, I was sure. My arms, my legs, even my face would not cease itching.

_"You'll tear your skin clean off! Haha! You're always so thorough."_

It was plain to see it was dinnertime in Cheydinhal as all of the tables were filled with empty stomachs and bowls of stew. _I wonder if these people were consuming the stomachs of another creature. It would be so splendidly ironic._ The air stunk of ale and perspiration. I pushed my way to the counter.

"Look at you there! You're a new face. Now, don't look so sour, only let it out! In case you didn't know, cursing, spitting, screaming, it's all fine by me. Rough someone up if you have to. I'll tell the guard I saw nothin'."

"You one of those Ashlanders? Bunch of heathens, but you've managed to learn to speak rather nicely."

"You s'wit, don't get me started on the goings on in Vvardenfell. When I said it was okay to pick a fight, I didn't mean with me." _Fine then, you curr._

"I need something strong."

She leaned over to better shout in my ear. "Sujamma, maybe? I managed to smuggle some in tax free. You know how those damned Imperials love their taxes. I can give you a good price."

"I want none of your weak homegrown brews. I need something strong. You know."

"The Orum gang don't let me hold any of that Skooma. Don't allow me to serve it. They'll mess me up real good otherwise, and back home that's a reason to keep quiet. Still can't believe that there are so many Skooma eaters that ain't Khajiits. If you need your fix go directly to them, you fetcher." She pointed to a table full of Orcs seated near the door.

There was little else for me to do then, aside from picking myself up to go exchange pleasantries with the pack of talking Rot Scales. At least I hoped they could talk. _They honestly are pig children. Astonishing how they can pride themselves in that._

"Might I trouble you for a bottle?" I inquired lowering myself to be at eye level with the seated barbarians. One of them sniffled. Several replaced their spoons into their bowls. I watched them exchange glances.

"We don't sell Skooma to travelers. Get out of here you bumbling idiot. We're contracted." He had no shame in his occupation, and no reluctance in mentioning the drug.

"Dulfish," an almost female voice whispered. "I have not yet made the drop." I watched the awkward way her lips maneuvered around her large, protruding tusks. She sipped her stew from her tiny spoon. It was an almost lady-like mannerism.

The ogre called Dulfish glanced at the lady-Orc before turning his attention to me. "Yanno, this quality of product is quite hard to find. A bottle of it goes for easily two hundred septims."

"Save me your spit, Orc. It doesn't cost that much."

"Why have you none, then? You come to my table at dinner because you are in need. I can see it in your eyes, woman. If Skooma is so easily gotten surely you would not be troubling me."

I supposed he was right. Skooma wasn't exactly as widely available here as it was in the South. I stiffened my jaw—was it really worth the cost? I'm sure I could pry it from his cold, dead hands. The proprietor had made it a point to say that roughhousing was permissible, and they wouldn't necessarily notice that he was more than simply unconscious before I made my escape. There was the matter of losing my tail, though. If I made a ruckus, surely I would not be able to shake the offending curr from my trail. I shifted my line of sight around the room. No one seemed to have their eyes on me apart from Dulfish. Our transaction would go unseen and our discourse unheard in the roaring sea of sound. I dropped a bag of coins in his lap and watched him suspiciously. There were less than two hundred pieces in the small purse, but I doubt he would take the time to count it. _He's positively gouging me anyway._

With that, the Orc reached beneath the seat of the female that sat next to him, grasped at something, and produced a shining vial. He made great haste in shoving the small bottle into my hand, presumably so that he could resume his meal. The bottle was cool to the touch and I could feel the fine liquid sloshing about inside its container. I suddenly felt parched. I didn't have time to be sour about my loss—what did I use gold much for anyway? A bed and food was all I required, and occasionally a bottle of this or a pint. Especially with the new alliance I had formed, I was sure to get by.

I knew I would be unable to enjoy it here, and since eyes had been moved off of me, now would be most opportune to escape. I could steal into the coolness of an alleyway, have my fix, and then make my way to the sanctuary. I would go alone, without The Whisperers. _Yes. Yes._ I tore into the newfound darkness of the night.

The streets were predominantly quiet and not as I had expected. I had hardly needed to conceal myself. No one had been following, and no one had been looking in my direction. I made my way into what I assumed to be the only abandoned house in the town with little effort. Surely the guild paid off the court to keep this home unrented. In such an otherwise sunny town, it seemed odd to leave a house in such disarray.

In a tunnel leading out of the basement, I could see a red glow from somewhere deep inside. It was suspicious enough, and as such, I surmised that this must be the place foretold in my dream. Or visitation. _Who could tell, really?_ The most I could determine was that the Whisperers had not lied to me. I would have to apologize to them later, after they roused themselves from sleep.

As I snaked around a corner in the twisting hall a dark door seemed to be the source of the eerie light. It could not unnerve me, though. It was welcoming me, inviting me. My hand floated up and out to touch the pulsing door as I neared.

"_What, fool? You think yourself home?"_

I could feel the smooth texture of the brow ridge of the skull etched into the door. It echoed its heartbeat all about the chamber. _So smooth. _A woman held a child in her arms while turning her knife on fearful onlookers below the skull. _A loving mother._ I pressed my face to the smooth surface, the flesh of my face molding around the stiff indentations. I stroked the aged details with great care.

"_Your own mother should have loved you so much." Have they returned already? _I could not care. My skin was alight with the strangest sensations. I reached up for the large hand that blocked out the sun and breathed deeply, pressing my palm to it and allowing the doors perfect curves to caress my face.

"What is the color of night?" It echoed. I could feel the sound cause the door to vibrate, like a purr. Its lips to mine own ears. _Well, _It was simple, really. _The night here is a glorious red. Bloody, even._

"Sanguine, my dear," I purred, my lips resting on the door.

"My child, I welcome you home." I could feel the door shift. A lovely and terrible cold enveloped me. This could only be the sanctuary.

When my eyes adjusted to the new light, I could see that a woman turned to meet me. An Argonian. _Well, I'm not sure what to make of this._

"_Haha, your own mother! An Argonian!"_

I would ignore them. Such love could not come from a lizard.

"You must be our new dark sister. Greetings! Lucien said that I should expect you. I'm the mistress of this sanctuary, Ocheeva. Please, come."

_Why did she not stare like the others? With her appearance I suppose I appear normal to her. Most curious. _She motioned for me to come further in to the hall. I supposed I had no choice but to obey. No one else was in sight. She made a motion for me to sit at the table to her side. I obliged.

"Lucien has spoken quite well of you." She seated herself across from me. "It leaves me quiet curious. Tell me, how is it that you have gone undetected for so long? Only as of late has our Mother called for you."

"_Ah, she is clever. Clearly she does not feel you were worthy of such praise."_

"You are concerned of my worth to you. Fear not, whatever tales your superior may have told you are most likely quite real. Where is he?"

"Ah, Lucien? He is in the sanctuary. He normally does business elsewhere, but he always makes an appearance when his new recruits arrive. By Sithis, always the female recruits." Her expression changed. She was sour over something. _But what does she have to fear? She is sanctuary mistress, which is probably the highest rank attainable here._

"I must speak with him."

"In due time, sister. First, go and greet your new brothers and sisters. The time will come later to speak to Lucien." She began to get up and straighten the contents of the table arbitrarily. She seemed almost hurt. "I welcome you again, my sister. May the Night Mother wrap you in Her cold embrace." _Fickle Argonian woman. She must miss her eggs._

"_Perhaps they have been eaten!" _The Whisperers cackled.

I rose from the table and set out to explore the sanctuary. The walls were made of a sturdy stone, which, rest assured, would keep the several tons of soil above from crashing down. The hall seemed damp, but not cold. A blonde woman tore around the stone corners of the hallway and came to a screeching halt feet from myself.

"Dearest sister! You must be my new sister! Why, you are more beautiful than I was told." _Beautiful? It has been a while since I have heard that. I feel emaciated. Fearsome, perhaps. Beautiful? No._

"_As beautiful as a Necromancer's pride and joy. The eyes of a Daedra and the body of a plague bearer, you are some sight. A wonder you still have breasts."_

I parted my lips to speak.

"I'm sure Lucien will take a liking to you!" She interrupted me. "He always likes the ladies, provided they're not Argonians, Khajiits, or Orcs," she whispered. "He'll always favor me most, though. Before I became the predator, I was the prey." She winked. I could see from her expression that she was desperate to keep up appearances. So, this handsome man that sought me out had a habit of bedding his subordinates. She, evidently, missed her visitation.

"_How many times must the men in your life defile you? You love it, though, you filthy thing."_

_Liars. I cannot feel love._

"I'm Antionetta Marie. Remember, because one day I'll be the new mistress of the sanctuary. I'm much fiercer than you give me credit." She smiled knowingly. How much she knew, I still wondered.

"Enchanted, sister." I had learned all I could, and pushed past her.

The hall was quieter than I had expected. I supposed the others were either out on business or already asleep. From the corner of my eye I could see a set of large double doors open with a commanding screech. I turned my vision there and saw the son of Molag Bal.

"…Vampire?" I inquired. Did no one have standards any longer? A smile made its way to the blood-drinker's face.

"Welcome, welcome!" he cheered. Behind him I could see a very familiar face. Lucien only nodded in my direction. "I am Vicente Valtieri. I trust you have already spoken with your other brothers and sisters." He chuckled. "Don't look at me so. I will not harm my family." I could see his fangs peek from under his lips. All of my guildmates appeared to be so comical. It was a wonder how they were masters of their art. I could feel my eyes narrow in disbelief. I did not desire to speak with him. He was only getting in the way. "Well, when you're well acquainted, I'll be more than happy to give you your first assignment."

_I will be reporting to this unholy fiend and not my recruiter? Was this a cruel trick that so many swine are born Breton? This is almost as laughable as Skingrad being run by a corpse! _I nodded stiffly, in acknowledgement.

Lucien stepped out of the doorway to meet me.

"Yes, this is your new sister. As I was just telling you, friend," he spoke to Vicente, "she has yet to disappoint."

"May your arrow always strike true, my dear," he purred, splaying his fiendish teeth as he parted.

"I have… questions." I looked up from beneath my eyelashes.

"Come then, let us speak in private." Lucien gestured in the direction that lead back to where I had come. There had been another set of double doors there. _I suppose he has an office here._

I joined him as we made our way up the hallway. "I understand you do not take up your residence here." The room he had lead me to was rather large, but crumbling. Apparently, the strength of the stone was not so strong that I should place my faith in it. Perhaps I would prefer to sleep elsewhere.

"No, I do not. These are Ocheeva's quarters." There she was, reading some book or another, minding her business. When she saw us enter, she immediately rose.

"I shall leave you to your talk." She made her way to the door. "Speaker," she acknowledged as she ducked out of the room. Without haste, he closed the reinforced doors behind her.

"She 'rents' it to me on occasion, when I have business in town." He smiled a sideways grin. A man's mind was so predictable, but I would have my answers.

"Do you worship this Sithis—this Void?" I stood sideways and kept my eyes fixed on him. I had so many questions.

"You are so curious, my sister. Your Dread Father wishes for you to know Him, and so I shall tell you." He made a motion for me to sit in Ocheeva's stiff, wooden chair. I shifted my vision from him, to the chair, and back, at which point I was given a nod. He was insisting. I seated myself. "Sithis is the Void, our Dread Father. He has existed alongside Anu as Padomay in the ancient times, and as such is the core of the universe. There are many tales told of the birth of our…family. Our Unholy Matron, the Night Mother, was visited by our Dread Father long ago and she bore five children. That is said to be the origin of our family. Four fingers and a thumb—four Speakers and a Listener—the Black Hand. I serve the Black Hand."

"So I would do well to heed your words? You are privy to the Night Mother's wishes?"

"My child, I have no such privilege. Such is the sole responsibility of our Listener. He disperses contracts amongst the Speakers, who in turn distribute them to the sanctuaries under their jurisdiction. Such is the pecking order." He paced in a deliberately slow way, only quickening when it came time to change directions. The controlled nature of his gait exuded might. If I had been a normal woman, I would have perhaps found it menacing.

"What of myself?"

"Mother desires you for the glory of Sithis. She has whispered that you are an accomplished sorcerer."

I gave him my full attention. _How could such things be known? These entities were no Daedra, nor the "Divines"._ A moment later I attempted to shrug it off.

"A sorcerer, nae. A conjurer."

"Dear sister, do not lie. Your affinity for destructive magics precedes you." He seemed excited to affirm my talents. With his elevated excitement, it seemed he had to exert measurable effort to maintain his slow pace, but the fire in his eyes betrayed him.

I produced the silver and gold dagger he had presented me with at our last meeting. I bowed my head as I began to polish its sheath on the tiers of my gown.

"You are a strange breed of animal, Monsieur Lachance. I would consider myself quite fortunate to see one such as you at work." I lifted my eyes to him, without straightening my neck.

He did not respond straightaway. After I had returned my eyes to my work, I could feel his presence come nearer.

"In my work and at my leisure, I assure you, I show to each the same ferocity." I turned my head up—he was towering above my own head. He seized me by my shoulders, lifting me from my seat and into a standing position. I lost my grip, and the blade fell, clanging to the ground. _Oh, I've whetted his interest. How foolish of me._ I would be lying to say I was without my own curiosity. Then again, men of relative status were not necessarily a new commodity…


	24. Reanimation

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

***Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Help me make a necklace! Know that I write for YOU! Thanks for your love and support!***

Chapter Summary:

The morning after a hot evening tryst, reflection ensues. After careful consideration, it seems that suddenly the tables have turned; something has happened. A corpse reanimated; a dead body suddenly jolted back to life. The monster must have more. **-Mature, yet not necessarily graphic sexual content. Instances of abuse.-**

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No sooner did I exit the doors of Ocheeva's quarters the next morning did I feel the air in the sanctuary change. It shifted, just minutely, and I understood why.

"_Look, the beasts smell it on you."_

Vicente did not even turn his head when he passed by the screeching doors; Teinavaa huffed when he caught my scent on the drafty sanctuary breeze. However, when I reached the main hall, Telaendril glanced up from her field guide and nodded gently in my direction. She raised an eyebrow and patted the free area on the bench she was seated on. I obliged, not that I thought for a moment what she might have to say might be the slightest bit of consequence.

"Ah," she exhaled as I made myself comfortable on the wooden bench. "Lucien is very aware that he can make offers that one just cannot refuse. You're further proof." She made eye contact with me, a giggle welling up behind her smiling eyes.

_Idiot._ I looked around. "These men are children in their father's house. They have no claim on the women and it frustrates them. They cannot strike out against their father." It was feasible. There had to be some measure of discontent in a house of rapists and murderers. It was the beauty of their fetid nature.

"Not all of the men," she giggled. "You see, Gogron and I—"

"I care not; you're a fool, Telaendril. You'll birth pig children if they don't tear you up from the inside first." I rose from my seat and stepped forward as her now agitated blathering continued. When night fell, perhaps I would begin a contract, but now, it was time for the more needful things of guild life.

Even if they could smell the musk of sex on me, I didn't care. For what was the purpose of hiding such things? The only things worthy to be hidden were those that one would not desire others to know. A favorite tavern? Perhaps best maintained as a secret, but with regard to which company one keeps in bed, such secrecy is unnecessary. I would use it to assert my own authority early on. I could do wonders for this guild, and I would make sure to have my guild mates neatly under my thumb.

I was reluctant to eat the food in the sanctuary. Such rations are easily poisoned, and clearly there was already a seedling of unrest being nursed deep underground. _Ah, but soon enough I will unify them._ Here the air was thick with the vapors of past poisons, much more powerful than any musky scent I may have introduced.

"_Choose your alliances carefully, Duchess."_

"Are you questioning my judgment?" Not that I didn't delight in thinking on most of the Whisperers' idle musings, but how dare they attempt to check my decisions!

"_Vicente is closely bound to Lucien, and do you not regard Vicente as an appropriate player in all this? Hot blood is best pumped past his greedy lips rather than circulated to rid this dank dungeon of its chill. By his very nature he has inevitably laid in wait for his chance to seize power longer than you have been alive."_

"Fie, blind conjecture. I suppose you'll be suggesting Antionetta as a threat soon enough, too, the suckling pig." I would not listen to them. Instead, I occupied myself with surveying the damage my garments had sustained. My bloomers were beyond repair, I could safely say, and I had left them on the floor where they had fallen the night before. I even had scratches on my thighs from where Lucien had torn them off, which had begun to sting pleasantly. _My!_ The lace was torn in some spots on the tiers of my finery. Not only did this man assert his authority, but he also thought little of those he consorted with. It could be plainly seen that such painstaking attention to detail had been observed during the crafting of this gown—this gown of a Duchess. I could not find a way to make myself cross with Lucien, though; Telaendril had spoken correctly when she commented on his ability to persuade. A tear, a scar: it was a reminder, a calling card, the proof of a lusty memory to perhaps be repeated.

When he placed his hands on me, I knew there would be bruises. Somewhere in the past perhaps I would be shocked at my own resulting giddiness. He would do his best to hurt me, and he did, perhaps simply due to lack of concern. But then, something happened inside me. I wasn't simply entertained by the prospect and the idea of it all, the game, the novelty of abusive sex with a dark stranger; I was alive in the moment. Alive. Like a lich encountering the inconvenience of being set ablaze. The electric shock that was the thought or feeling that just for a moment, you might die. The excitement to fight back, in some pseudo self-preservation, as you're held down, became reality. The excitement I had reveled in many a night in the realms of New Sheoth, or behind the chapel where I had encountered that very Bosmer that eventually lead me to all this. As I had thrashed and howled the night before, I could feel my head and back being driven into the cupboard behind me at the furious pace that he had upheld for most of the evening. Even as my body fell limp and my lips became dry with thirst, Lucien had refused to relent. Truly, to each, this man must show the same ferocity.

"_To be the only thing that makes you feel that your heart is still beating inside that crude excuse for a body... Find another thrill, girl, he's what your mother would call a 'one-night John', and even she would be ashamed of you. Don't look so surprised, you know what she was. Face it; you've lost your drug. Now go and kill."_

I could've done so many things to demonstrate my own ferocity, my outrage at those entities who had just overstepped their boundaries…

_But, nae, for something such as this to be awakened inside of me, this man was no less than a healer. I must have more. All else matters little._


	25. For the Glory of Depravity

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

***Reviews and comments are pearls of love that must be strung together and displayed. Help me make a necklace! Know that I write for YOU! Thanks for your love and support!***

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia recaps past contracts and describes her notions of her "rise to power." She is resolved to have Lucien in her grasp, though seems to have found herself a slave to the services which he provides. With the whispers of a new contract in the air, promised to suit her fancy, she decides to pay a visit to her den mother, Ocheeva, to see what all the fuss is about.

* * *

The "Glory of Sithis" was an illusion, a phrase with which to gild another intention. Nights flew by with unmatched speed, though I went unvisited. It would only be a bit longer before I would pique again the interest of Lachance. Three contracts had already been completed before Masser showed Herself again in Her full glory. _No one else could move that quick, with such conviction or accuracy._ The sanctuary had managed to keep me quite busy though, sending me to kill Cyrodiil's prisoners, pirates, and idiots. Although now I was biding my time in the sanctuary's living quarters, I found myself strangely engaged by such painstaking work. A successful hit on any one target took at the very least several weeks of planning. There was the matter of seeking out the mark's schedule, evaluating the most opportune moment to strike, observing the kind of company the target keeps, the food they eat, their sleep schedule, their preferred garment color… However, by the time I had arrived in Cyrodiil I was already on par with a professional, and I performed like one. Apparently, the Brotherhood readily recognized this, for every contract I turned in completed, in the exchange of hands I was offered yet another. There was only the need to attract our Speaker's attention. His attention, once attained, I would grasp with an iron grip.

My most recent contract had proved very profitable, in the most excellent way. It was almost as if the Altmer had led me to his stash as though to forfeit it to me, with the knowledge of my purpose for which I had visited him. He saw it in my eyes when our gazes had first connected—he knew that difference between an artist and a murderer. He knew the haphazard flailing of his knife was sloppy, that it lacked control—rushed, frightened. _He could have butterflied Lorkmir like a fine fillet and prepared the tender parts for his lovely Atraena for supper with a cold bottle of Skooma. _There had been so many possibilities for that fine Nord carcass, but no, he had long been dead, rotting in his own basement, and presumably utterly disappointed that he hadn't been carved out by an artist. An undeveloped, now flawed block of marble he would remain. It was unbearable…

"_You could have done so much more for that Nord, if only you had reached him sooner. Do you think you could make him beautiful?"_

"I could've made his blood sing." I sipped my newly acquired Skooma at the table.

"Without a doubt."

"Leave me!" I screeched. _How dare they speak again? Was the Skooma no longer effective? _ It seemed to be growing into more and more of a challenge to keep them in their place.

"Sister," a clear, male voice spoke. It was then that I realized. I spun around, stood, pressing my back into the rough table, and bled apologies.

"My Speaker," I gasped. "Please accept my deepest of apologies. Distracted, I did not realize to whom I was speaking." I avoided his gaze.

"Little sister," I could see from the movement of his feet that he was approaching me. "Mother has been watching diligently." He leaned over me, every moment causing me to readjust my posture until I finally found myself parallel to the table. He leaned his lips to my ear. "She whispers that she is quite impressed with you, and I must say that you have been most missed." Lucien brought his head around to face me. My heart began to audibly beat. I felt warm.

"My Speaker," I gasped once more as he ran his rough fingers over my lips.

He rested a shin on the tabletop and breathed his hot breath onto the bare areas of my body. The hair on my arms leaped to attention. I tried to right myself, to sit upward on the table on which I had been reclining. The weight would be too much, though, and he had me pinned.

"_You feign your innocence. It is all going according to your disgusting plan, isn't it? You fix to ride your way to the top." _

_Business, only…only business. _I could assert it all I wished, but there was something that was outside of my control here. My will bent under the strength in his arms. He looked thoughtful for a moment, something fleeting before his mind's eye, and then it was gone. He took a fistful of my hair and tugged. I arched my back so as to rub my body against his.

"Speaker, Ocheeva wishes to—"

"Antoinetta, leave me, lowly Slayer!" He spat, gritting his teeth. I felt a wonderfully intense pain on my scalp as he pulled my hair again in a fit of anger. I could hear the pitter patter of hurried footsteps in the opposite direction and the hushed acoustics of whimpering. _A man at work you are. Such… ferocity._

"_Hah, perhaps you'll find yourself dead! Ferocity killed the cat!_"

_Oh, spare me._ My mind was spinning; blood vessels screeching and grating against one another. I couldn't listen. I gritted my teeth and extended my arm to grip the dark, silky plait of hair dangling over his shoulder that I had just noticed a moment before. I pulled him in; much like a hunger embraces its food before devouring it. If I could only just taste him: the sweat and blood from his latest endeavor. I found my tongue snaking out of its warm cave. He redirected his attention to me, his head turning in one quick, controlled movement. My trap snapped shut, the pink worm concealing itself. I made motion to lean forward.

My actions were met with a swift assertion of authority as I was forced back down onto the table with a _bang,_ as Lucien, again, met my eyes.

"Many of your brothers and sisters seem to underestimate the artful kill. I simply do not know how they are tolerated." I reclined leisurely against a large oak cupboard, the sleeves of my bodice drooped around my shoulders, exposing the pink petals of my nipples.

"They each serve Sithis in their own way. However, their status is not accidental. They are not all equally dedicated, though dedicated they are," Lucien hissed, only a few feet away. I righted my garments.

"They should all be flogged, made example of for their insubordination."

"_And death to them! Death and decay! They are complacent and mock your achievements!_"

"Insubordination? Surely, you are not saying they are not pure of intention."

"All that I am saying is that I expect better from the servants of a god of death." I grasped my forehead, trying to keep the rioters within the walls of my skull.

"The Void, my dear, goes beyond the doors of mere death." He grasped my chin firmly, his hot breath filling my nose.

"Ah…" I breathed.

"_It branches to decomposition, futility, blood, and sexual deviance. Must be a lovely place., wouldn't you agree, dear? So crowded there, too."_

"…and so I have become learned." I turned my face from him, which prompted him to snake his body around my own, but _ah, I am mistaken._ His lips paused to caress the crook of my neck.

"There is a contract I have heard of through the grapevine. I've given it to Ocheeva. I told her," he bit at the tender flesh around my jaw with his front teeth. "that your expertise would be of much use in this particular affair."

"Undoubtedly, she wished to refute your request when she sent Antionetta in to fetch you."

"I will not have it. Mistress to the Sanctuary or not, she will obey orders from her superior. They will see your excellence and will die trying to reach it."

I nursed a bruise on my arm and rose to my feet. The damp cold of the living quarter's floor began to bite at the skin of my thighs and buttocks. I reached for my half-finished bottle of Skooma and drank heartily. I would not converse with a second voice.

"Do you drink often, sister?" He rested an arm on his upturned knees.

"Not often by choice. I work best… undistracted." He did not speak further on it, as I would have it. "Dear Speaker, if I might take my leave now, I shall fulfill your request."


	26. Mental Dissolution

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

***I have returned after a lengthy hiatus! Thank you for your love and support during this intermisson!***

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia receives a contract that requires her to attend a dinner party. A momentous undertaking, Hetalia goes to great lengths to ensure that her façade is perfectly maintained. There is also the matter of her being forbidden to return to Skingrad as ordered by the Count. As such, this will require some creativity and careful movement before the curtain may rise on tonight's show.

* * *

I rolled up the coarse parchment that contained my orders. The scroll smoldered with jealousy—I knew Ocheeva would not want to give this one up. It was an extraordinary honor to be given this kind of contract, especially for someone of my unique talent. My innate desire was to control and orchestrate death with precision. To put on a play with the dead as actors was my highest aspiration. A necromancer without the constraints of magic. _Oh, to reanimate a corpse was no small feat, however, to make your victims dance to their own death knell, without magical aid, without giving them a script, was a challenge and an adventure which would bring immeasurable esteem._ It would be my finest moment, when I finally stride out of the manor, my own hands clean, the concert finished and the conductor out of sight. A shadow. I would be a shadow; a phantom: never there. I would be—

"You're beaming. Such a rare occurrence. What are these orders I have heard Ocheeva and Teinaava whispering of? Surely, you must have them." I readjusted my view to see Vicente. I would not engage one such as him.

"Mind your manners, ghoul," I replied, coolly.

"By Sithis, humor an old man." He hid his irritation with excitement. "Now, what is this occasion that has one such as you nearly skipping to your quickened heartbeat?"

"My contract requires me to attend a dinner party. It will be a fine performance." _Much more artistic than your execution of the task would be. You'd drink their blood- all of them. A glutton. A glutton you are, fiend!_

"You'll never be able to do as you must if you do not regain your composure, child. You appear already guilty with your eyes darting about like that. The key to this type of contract is to blend well with your surroundings." He brought my sight back to his eyes. "Do not call attention to yourself. Strike while alone. Seduction and manipulation are your best tools."

"Do not lecture me." I shook free from his stare. "I will not engage you." I tucked the scroll away and made my way away from him.

"There is a force much darker than the Heart of Sithis which steals you from our world," I could hear him muse as he faded into the background. He would fix to weave a spell of confusion around me to send me running fearfully under his wing.

_I am an efficient, unrelenting, uncompromising machine._

"_You're delusional!" _I could hear them cackling. _"You're pathetic! Coming apart at the seams! Threadbare! All shall be made visible on your performance night!"_

Much preparation would need to be performed in order to successfully have my ruse take all in. Flaws in performance would not be acceptable. As such, neither could tears in my garment or a misplaced hair. I would not have the pleasure of encountering any of my guests prior to the commencement of the party, and therefore the only major preparation would be my own. The most natural character to play would be my own self, a role which would reflect my status, tact, and grace that would bring these _most honored guests_ to their knees. Without a doubt I could lull each into a state of utter safety on my own, but there was no shame in employing a high-end charm spell, either.

I suppose it took an occasion such as this to call my attention to my suffering finery. It had been quite a while since being tailored, or had any other kind of attention paid to it. I made a habit of utilizing it as work clothes, for the clothing that had been provided to me upon my arrival in the sanctuary was much too bland, anonymous, and plainly just too utilitarian. Who had ever heard of utilitarian art? Not only is the victim part of the scene that is being created, but the artist herself becomes a piece of the artwork, as well. To have your art become unbalanced with the lack of grandeur at one end of the composition makes for a messy finished product.

"_You fix to get yourself caught! Parading around as though you have nothing to fear! The world is against you and those of your faction, you idiot. You ought to take their advice and learn to blend in and lay low."_

"I yet live! One must dress appropriately for the part they wish to play. A stable hand will never be a Duke if he remains plain clothed." I pulled out a needle and thread from the common cupboard in the living quarters. Black seemed to be the only type of thread available, which was simply something that came with the misfortune of being uniformly clothed. "Damn you, thread yourself! Commoner's thread is always the most surly and least likely to take direction!" _I was not made for this kind of place. Those here are refuse of society, for sure. We are of like mind in our hobbies, but their execution is severely inferior. Everything of them is inferior. This damned thread, even! Few of us are fit for something more, and when our time comes, we shall have at it!_

I had not realized the extent of the damage to my finery until I actually took the needle to it. The lace was pulling away from the lower tiers and my sleeves were spattered with the brown, fine mist of shed blood from long ago; my jeweled accents were in dire need of polishing. If I aspired for the role of more than a peasant queen, I'd need to address all of these things before my departure. A bath, as well, was in order.

The dinner party was scheduled to occur in Skingrad, and I was none too please in that regard. It had been a great time and yet not long enough since I had encountered his most undead highness, the Count Hassildor. The road from Cheydinhal to Skingrad was one that led through the Imperial City if I let it, which would be another distraction. I made my path around its perimeter and along the Gold Road instead.

Much to my disappointment, there was not much in the way of inns along this route, something I was in dire need of before my debut. Already I was not welcome inside Skingrad's bountiful walls, so to announce myself once again would forfeit my secrecy. Faintly, I remembered there being an inn just inside the walls near the west entrance. So be it. There was no other alternative, and I would not have my hair go unkempt for such an occasion.

I was already taking a risk in potentially announcing myself to the Count by seeking lodging in his city, so rather than surrendering my horse to the city's stable, I tethered her to a tree, somewhere near the edge of the forest. I gathered my necessities, which were nothing more than a few hair pins, and started for the city gate. It was already late in the evening, and deathly close to my appointment time at the manor, if fact. I would have to make haste if I was to be on time.

"A room please!" I called as I rushed inside the West Weald Inn. The innkeeper's eyes shot up in my direction, undoubtedly concerned by the urgency in my voice.

"A room's ten pieces a night, my lady," she spoke once I closed the distance between us. She began busying herself with her tankards and their polishing. "It's the second door on the left up on the third floor. You should find it alright. You can pay in the morning when you leave. Those Orcs would make you pay ahead of time."

"Actually, I'd prefer to square this away now. Ten gold, you say? Here." I brought out my fat coin purse, swollen with unspent gold pieces—the spoils of war. In a shiny stack, I placed them onto the bar with an audible _clack_. "Send up a basin of water as soon as you possibly can manage. I shall bathe." With that I left for the stairway. The help had there instructions, there was no more direction that need be given.

The water basin was smaller than I had expected, but it did its job well enough. Taking a cue from the indigenous culture, I did my hair up in a style that spoke to the peak of Colovian high life. A tight plait from the crown of my head before recoiling on itself. Elegance. It breathed elegance. I couldn't help but stare at this creature in the mirror. It had been so long since I had been thoroughly clean, dressed to the nines, and primped to this extent. In all actuality I could not recall another time when I had been so well dressed. With this guise, I was sure that none of those puppets would see that which was rotting beneath the surface, the dagger clinging closely to my calf, the spells hidden in my palms, and certainly they would not detect the heavy charm spell that exuded from my skin like perfume.

"_Do you truly expect a constant effect charm to detract from the guests suspicions? You still have the beauty of a dremora. Those eyes cannot even be mistaken for human."_

"Shut up!" I pressed the tips of my manicured fingers into my brow and stared into the wood grain of the armoire. "You will not speak again."

"_Ah, but I believe you might bring a guest of your own to this party. What shall we wear?"_

I could not will them silent. They grated against my nerves with a wretched scratching sound. I pain was unbearable, and to my surprise, not exquisite. I gently bit down on the finger of my free hand, trying to remain silent. The discomfort began to subside and then started up once again, somewhere new. I looked down at my finger, releasing it from between my teeth. On it laid a series of tiny puncture marks where my teeth had broken the flesh. I had been….surprisingly vicious. Now, only to share that gift.


	27. The Sixth Guest

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Reviews and comments are like pearls of love- help me make a necklace!

Chapter Summary:

The sixth guest puts on quite a show. For four it was a show to die for. It was a show to kill for for one. Although Hetalia finds herself unable to perform the task without sacrificing the bonus, the more difficult problem turns out to be maintaining a grasp on her reality—whether it be fact or fiction. Damn that Neville.

* * *

The evening sun had begun to roll across the sky. It seemed for this occasion I had the long overdue privilege of having a doorman.

"Good evening," I said.

"Ah, the last guest. You go in just like the rest of them, and when it's all over, you can let yourself out." He winked at me as he shoved a key in my direction.

"A present from Mother?" I could only assume, and tucked the key into my bosom. The Nord gave a tiny nod and a crooked smile.

"In you go, my dear. Now, mingle." It was time to go to work.

"My blade to their flesh." The door must have been reinforced, for when I attempted to push it open, it resisted much more than any other door. _An __iron __plate __between __the __two __hardwood __boards, __no __doubt._

"The sixth guest! So good to finally meet you. We've been waiting all of this time for you so that we can finally begin looking!" An old voice chattered. I turned around and, with a hidden fear, looked into her face. Her expression was unwavering, and so it seemed the charm was working well. She stared into my eyes as though I had been any ordinary woman. She was an old woman, her hair had long been grey, her garments in need of minor repair. "I'm Matilde Petit. It's a Breton name. Who might you be?"

"A noble I am." I would not give my station. To do so would reveal my identity to those who might be privy to the Count's opinions. "You may call me Lady Prideaux."

"My lady, I too am of noble birth! The Petits are among one of the oldest and respectable noble families in High Rock. Surely you have heard!"

"I have yet to hear of such a family in my travels…" In truth, I hadn't. _I __haven__'__t __seen __the __peaks __of __High __Rock, __have __I? __Her __fame __is __unknowable. __But __she __will __know __me __before __the __end __of __this __night._

"Oh…" She seemed caught off guard by my candid response. Truth was the greatest gift one could give to another. Lies for the sake of courtesy are not so well-liked. "You would fall in well with Primo Antonius."

"Aye, then I shall seek better company." I took my leave of her and proceeded to the stairs, leaving her alone in the large entryway.

I could hear babbling coming from the floor above. Before I could make any hit, I needed to understand the lay of the land, in order to find the most shrouded corner, the most out of the way room in which to strike.

"Pfft. I was done with you anyway. I can only talk to an ex-legion pig for so long before my ears start bleeding." The voice was bellowing, like most other Nords, and it cast itself off of every surface, ricocheting off the architecture until the sounds reached my ears. As I rounded the corner from the stairwell, I could see another man step just out of my frame of view. This must have been who the Nord was speaking with. An Imperial boy was quietly eating at the dinner table, trying his best to look uninvolved in the conversation that had just transpired.

"A pleasure." I sat down next to him. He seemed well dressed enough. I would do well to speak with him. His opinions, despite being colored by his Imperial lineage, may indeed echo in my own noble blood.

"_He _is _a __fine __piece __of __flesh__…" _I tried my best to shake them off. Now was certainly not the time.

"Are you alright, ma'am? Your body just sent itself into a shudder." He paused as lifting his fork to lips.

"Quite alright." _I _couldn't even tell that I was reacting to their voices. _I __must __be __more __aware._ "Oh, tell me, how do you know the host?" I must find out exactly what they have been told, if I am to act accordingly.

"I am not sure. According to all with which I've spoken, no one knows who our host is. However, it must be someone whom we all know. Have you any thoughts?"

"Actually…I….don't often find myself in such parts. I have traveled quite some way to be here." I lowered my eyes, looking across my lap. I must be sure to be just as anonymous as the rest. I could feel intense pressure building in my skull.

"Oh, have you? From where do you hail?"

"The east. The east of Cyrodiil." It was the quickest answer and it came the easiest. It was no lie. I grasped my head in the groove between my pointer finger and thumb, trying to brush off any reason for the gesture. "You are quite well dressed. You give an air of decadence different from the faded glory of the rest. Do you also desire the treasure?"

"Well, my father owns more property than the East Empire Company…. But perhaps it is for my sense of sportsmanship that I have been invited. I do love a good hunt!"

"I, too," I echoed. _Your __father __probably __ordered __the __contract __on __your __head._"You have all acquainted yourselves with one another already?"

"Yes, it was all we could do while we waited for our sixth guest." Primo seemed irritated that he had been kept waiting.

"My sincerest apologies." I gave my head a squeeze. "My carriage was running behind schedule. A wheel cracked under the weight along the way," I lied.

I heard a chuckle from across the table. "Imperial craftsmanship has really become shoddy, eh?"

Primo glanced toward the Nord, evidently not appreciative of his interjection. "Such unreliable craftsmanship. In my father's day, money spent insured quality. I would have your carpenter flogged or fired when you return home." Primo laid down his fork and concluded his meal.

"Cost me several hours along the road. The worry has fatigued me so." I straightened my back and removed my hand. "My safety could have become compromised, the fool." I began to instead scratch at gown covering my lap in irritation at this imaginary carpenter and his carriage.

"_He __and __his __wife __and __his __children __will __pay __for __their __negligence. __Their __bones __shall __be __torn __from __their __bodies __and __tied __and __dragged __along __the __countryside __at __the __feet __of __their __horses. __Their __bodies __will __be __desecrated __by __Daedra __in __the __shrine__'__s __courtyard. __Never __again __shall __such __rot __be __endured.__" _I could feel my jaw trembling. I could feel the anxiety in my fingers—uncontrollable. I found myself picking at the precious stones with my nail rather than simply scratching. With great effort, I took a deep breath and stopped myself.

"Forgive my strange manner, my dear sir." _But __what __would __be __my __excuse?_ I feared that if I remained here much longer I would begin to lose myself to my thoughts. I reconstructed my composure and cleared my throat. "Only that I find myself quite…_infatuated_ by your elegance and agreeable personality." I swallowed hard. Perhaps this was not a horse I could mount.

"My…" Primo brought his slender, boyish fingers to his lips, in an almost feminine gesture. "You are quite…"

"Straightforward, I recognize that. Forgive me. I only wish that you do not mistake my bashfulness and aversion for disdain. To do such would shatter my delicate heart." I covered my lips with a closed fist. Perhaps there was a suitable saddle in the shed.

"_You __are __most __at __ease __when __you __are __being __subversive, __vulgar, __or __whorish. __The __time __is __now! __Destroy __him!__"_

"My ladylike manner crumbles in the presence of your grandeur. Unforgiveable." I managed to blush, the headiness of being promiscuous burning in my cheeks. My fingers were hurting. I was chewing hungrily at them.

"I am… honored and humbled by your confession…" I could see my influence wavering in his eyes. "Alas, I compose my songs of love for another." In an exercise of will, I removed my hands from my mouth.

"What other?" Shocked, frightened, embarrassed. I could be all these and none at once. I bit at my pinky nail.

"Dovesi, here in the manor. She is not high-born like you and I, however she possesses a certain grace… I fear my heart has been stolen." He made the pining whines of a boy in love and gazed dreamily at the area above my head. I scoffed.

"_That __Morrowind __worm __will __rape __his __boyish __naivete! __Will __you __allow __her __to __do __what __you __could __do __so __much __better?_" _No._

"Forget her." I could see my charms infecting him anew. "A Dark Elf? You will not be her first or last. Such dishonor you would bring your most prestigious family." I spoke low and directly.

We looked at one another for a long moment. I could only stare intently. For that moment, nothing could intercept the connection between his mind and my will.

"…Perhaps it is the blind fancy of a spoiled boy," he mused, and I relaxed my stare.

"There _is_ allure in the exotic. Come, retire upstairs with me so that we might _talk_." I let slip a saucy smile. "We need not seek the treasure. Our pockets are deep…" I glanced around. No one had been paying us any mind. They were most likely on their hands and knees digging around in the basement. I gripped his boyish thigh with purpose.

Surprise flashed in his eyes. I stood and walked to the staircase. _Noble __birth __does __not __make __one __immune __to __the __charms __of __a __lady. __Certain __hungers __even __outweigh __one__'__s __lust __for __riches_. I did not have to glance backward; his footsteps mimicked the excited state of his heart.

I sat at the edge of the bed, absently licking the tips of my fingers. I had let him do that despicable thing to me. His attention, though necessary, was so uninspired. Lacking passion, lacking the anger needed to satisfy. But it was desirable enough in that it would kill the love of another. A tragedy. The sacred tragedy. Like a play. Art. If Primo had feelings for the blight elf, no doubt her unleared self returned his affection. The Whisperers were churning like curdled milk being digested.

"_Like __Mephala, __you __birth __murder __and __death __like __a __hive __queen. __These __larvae __rot __the __good __world __from __the __inside __out. __You __are __a __shameful __harlot-__insatiable. __You __kill __good __men __after __lying __in __their __beds. __But __so __be __it. __They __will __only __grow __in__to __rapists __of __civilizations. __But, __let __the __satisfaction __roll __over __you __for __once. __Over __your __putrid __soul. __Taste __their __flesh __like __one __samples __a __fine __bit __of __harvest.__"_

I pulled my fingers languidly over my wet lips, drunk with unfulfilled lust. _Shall __I __leave __him __with __a __frozen __face __of __shock? __Would __it __be __more __interesting __to __dress __him __instead __and __prop __him __in __a __chair, __his __back __facing __the __door? _I could not be bothered. The more I deliberated the more possibility of the body being discovered too soon. I would find Dovesi and make this a double suicide. _They __will __lie __together __like __sculpture._

I found Dovesi in the foyer, her mauve gown, a little too large for her, dragging along on the wood floor. As ugly as a moist sewer rat. The floor was worn, as though the furniture had been rearranged and dragged across it thousands of times. I balled up my hands into fists to hide the bloodied and raw fingers on which I had been chewing. Standing on the landing at the base of the stairs, I opened my mouth to call out to her.

"No such luck yet with the gold, eh? I'm Nels."

I turned around to face Nels. There was little that I wanted to do to him that would be suitable for this occasion. "I see." He had the same impeccable timing as that Nord from Passwall… Jayred? It was so long ago. But my cool attitude could not quiet his blathering. _Perhaps __he __would __prize__ "__the __bones __of __his __own.__"_

"You seem to have really hit it off with young Primo upstairs, eh? I was listening for a while, but I can only listen to two pompous bags of flesh chatter for so long, you know." Insidious little pest! But it was either I shut him down or began bickering, so I fought hard to contain my irritation.

"Nord, I'd rather not discuss it. He became rather cross with me before we were through and retired to a room while I was mid sentence! And here I am. I refuse to speak more on it." I would have to adjust my story further, but only if the Nord wasn't as dumb as he looked.

"Funny, I was just upstairs getting some ale and I didn't see hide nor hair of you and Primo…" _Drat. _Nels looked thoughtful though, as though he was really trying to recall any one else in the dining area and not actually calling out my boldfaced lie. My fingers were fighting out of their tightly rolled ball. They needed to be in my mouth. They were chaffing inside their skin. I couldn't relax.

"We were about to examine the linen closets upstairs near the living quarters when he so offended me. Embarrassed and outraged, I could do no else but to stalk away. Now, good evening, Nord. What could you possibly understand of civilized conversation…"

"_Strike! __Silence __him __now __before __he __sews __the __seeds __of __doubt __in __the __rest!__" _They championed.

"There are people about, behave yourselves," I snapped under my breath.

"Huh?" Nels interjected.

"Yes, you too, hush. Goodbye," and I made motion to shoo him away.

"Dovesi?" I called from the landing. She who must have been rummaging near the fireplace, circled back to me when her voice was called.

"Yes? Who's calling?"

I came down to meet her. "Lady Prideaux. I see you searching rather diligently. Perhaps to look in as many places possible before that buffoon Nels comes bearing distractions?" _I __wonder __how __long __before __they __realize __that __I __am __the __prize, __and __they __will __all __win._

"That Nels, I think he's sweet on me. He looks over at me and smiles every-so-often," I could see that she saw him now, watching her from the top of the stairs. He must have paused briefly, before going to search elsewhere. "Perhaps if he finds the gold," she began to giggle, "he'd like some company." Apparently Great House Law, which controlled the politics of their mainland, did little to dictate discretion. Like I suspected, she'd jump into bed with anyone who could afford her. Elves are all slaves to their own promiscuity.

"_But __is __she __a __necrophiliac? __Her __family __fled __Morrowind __for __a __reason. __A __love __of __the __dead __does __not __bode __well __with __the __Dunmer. __We __shall __see!__"_

"Ah, Primo will be disappointed…" I said in an aside, loud enough to hear, quiet enough to not give myself away.

"Primo? What of Primo?" Her heart was alight with new excitement. Above being promiscuous, Dunmer were predictable.

"_Ah, __as __predicted. __The __slut __is __as __quick __to __change __directions __as __the __seasons. __Necessary __for __her __destiny. __Do __you __think __she __has __read __the __Biography __of __Barenziah? __Perhaps __she __models __her __life __after __that __irksome __whore.__"_

"He's sweet on you, Dovesi. He's got money, you know that. You'd do well to bed him."

"Oh, _my_, is that, too forward?" Dovesi's sickly green face flushed red. "I had been considering it…" The whisperers were chattering on, interrupting both of us. Blinking, blinking, blinking. Blinking seemed to be my only hope for maintaining my concentration. If I gave into them, I would lose my sight, and more importantly my course of action. "Are you… alright?" Dovesi seemed very put off by something.

I pulled my hand away. The four nail marks were ugly, dark marks on my right breast. Things were getting hard to control. My concentration was continually being broken. Disaster was imminent and the operation would fail unless I could get a handle on my own mind.

"F-fine. He waits upstairs in a bedchamber. It's almost romantic, being trapped in this house. An urgent and forbidden love, yes, it's quite romantic. He asked that if you will accept his affections that you will go to him immediately." My words were tumbling over one another.

Dovesi presently forgot what she had been doing and tore up the staircase. Following closely behind, I'd be there to lock the door behind her.

The night pressed on and I began to grow exhausted. I could feel my eyes rolling around in my head again, lacking purpose. There was nothing worth seeing, believing, even this killing was beginning to feel unfulfilling.

"_You __should __have __culled __Dovesi __into __doing __something __lewd. __She __would __have __felt __so __embarrassed __that __she __would __have __begged __for __death! __You __really __are __so __uncreative. __You __give __into __bloodlust __so __easily._" I shook my head. It wasn't that the killing was unsatisfactory. At the time, I was quite pleased with myself over what I had accomplished. Primo and Dovesi turned out to be something of a tragic love story, except that they were both faint of heart but one in desire. _Matilde __Petit __was __another __affair __entirely, __but __things __would __have __gone __better __had __she __not __struggled. __Her __struggle __threw __my __plan __all __up __in __disaster._ A wily old woman. "_Face __it, __you __just __didn__'__t __cut __deep __enough. __When __she tried to pull away, you__had __no __choice __than __to __slice __her __throat __and __let __her __cries __dribble __out. __You __should __thank __your __stars __that __you __weren__'__t __caught. __You __have __yet __to __fight __on __an __unleveled __playing __field. __Surely, __you __would __die __were __the __rest __to __turn __on __you.__"_

Pain rocked my body. I struggled to focus- much like one struggles to awaken from a nightmare. I saw my finger was bloodied and the coppery flavor of blood sang in my mouth. I replaced my finger in a sudden judgment. I would suck it dry. I looked at my injured breast. The marks were swollen and pink by now. I exhibited obvious signs of assault, but to whom would this be attributed to?

The truth was that there was fear hidden beneath this corset and brocade drapery. I had successfully killed three, but the bodies had been found, and suspicions had been aroused. _How __could __Ocheeva __possibly __believe __that __these __murders __could __go __undetected? __They __are __only __tearing __the __place __apart __to __find __some __imaginary __spoils! _This situation was beginning to appear more imposing than I could have imagined. There was no mistaking that by this point the esteem and bonus that came along with this contract had been forfeit. Perhaps I could feign my own death to erase all suspicion. _No, __a __fool__'__s __course __of __action._ Perhaps instead I could find a way to make the rest fight to the death.

I shook myself from my reveries as Neville came near.

"I thought we agreed not to go off on our own. It's dangerous. Something is amiss here." Neville laid a heavy steel axe on the wooden table and sat down. "I found this in the basement. Thought it might help." He folded and unfolded his hands, unsure of exactly which position his hands most favored. If they were displeased, perhaps they would retaliate. He cast a glance on me and I could see his eyes narrow in measurable suspicion.

"I thought I might rest. Searching for this box is tiresome, if it even exists." Expressing doubt was a human convention. Surely an ex-legion officer could appreciate that. He could not see through my façade. He would not. I would not allow it. His scrutinizing glance would have to be made to disappear.

"You know, I'm not one to really be scared. I'm a soldier. The last thing that scared me like this was the Oblivion Crisis. Thank the gods that's over. So many of my brothers in arms lost their lives... The sons of my comrades… I can't bear to think about it."

I cleared my throat in response. I could care less about the politics of the past, but the very thought of this seemed to be getting me unduly agitated.

"It really has changed the Empire forever. With no heir… the Septim line has been severed forever…"

I winced in pain. Why would this inspire such a response?

"I cannot…"

"Matilde!" I almost welcomed the interruption. However this would be the bearing of other inconvenient news.

"Matilde? I haven't seen her as of late, what has happened? Weren't you with her?" I chimed in. I would buy my innocence. I would place the knife in Nels's hands.

"Dead! Dead like the rest! I found her body slumped over at the fireplace. She had been carved and burned!"

"_She __would__'__ve __looked __more __like __a __fillet __had __you __done __it __correctly!__" _ My nails were grating on the inside of my palms. This was plainly unnerving. The night would be over soon enough, and then I could make my escape. However, soon enough could never come quite soon enough.

Had Neville not already had his preconceived notions of who the murderer might be, I might have found myself in a spot of trouble.

"Nels, what are you trying to say? Are you telling me that you went off with Matilde and she just happened to 'get dead' while you were with her?"

"N-no!" He bellowed. "I _was_ supposed to have her stay close, but she needed to use the ladies room, and I wasn't very well going to hang outside of the bathroom like some kind of dog. I stepped away for a moment to look near the basement and when I made my way back around—but I shouldn't have to justify myself to you! I am telling you that Matilde has been found dead. We have a murderer in this house!" _This __amulet __of __chameleon __has __proved __indispensable__…_

"_I__'__ll _say we have a murderer in this house! Nels, I knew I couldn't trust you!" Neville shot up from the table, grabbing his axe in hand. His arms shifted under the unexpected weight. This would be quite a show.

"Dear me!" I stood as well and clasped a hand around my mouth. I appeared to recoil in fright, but what I was truly preparing was my filleting knife.

Nels raised his arms before his face and began to beg for his life. "You're wrong, you're wrong, you bloodthirsty pig!" But Neville would have none of it. He raised the dull battleaxe above his head and brought it crashing through onto the Nord's skull. He didn't die instantly; in fact, it took a few hits before he would stay down. The first brought a pained wail and made the blonde giant come crashing to his knees. The second sprayed war-paint all about Neville's face. I brought myself closer, nearly looking over Neville's shoulder. The third made him kiss the ground and exposed his tongue. The forth and final was simply for good measure.

"Nels…was…. the murderer?" I inched backward in succession, giving myself distance in case he turned his axe on me.

"We're…safe now." He was out of breath. He let the axe drop. "Let us… rest briefly and then we'll find our way out of here." He took a seat at the table. I found myself making my way to a chair as well. "Such an old, tired body I have." I didn't expect Neville to actually kill him. I thought that in all reality I might have to force his hand a bit. Neville was probably a killer of many men in his years as a legion officer. Perhaps he had killed the wrong person. I almost wanted to extend an invitation to him for the Brotherhood. I could not.

"Neville… have you killed many men?" I was suddenly intrigued. It was information worth finding out now, before it became a matter of history.

"A man? Not before. I never harmed a fly before the Oblivion crisis began. I had to defend my town against that gate. A terrible thing, those gates." He looked at his hands as he reflected and refused to look up from them.

I could see flashes of red light and feel white hot heat. There was a twisted, dead tree. The cracked earth. A scamp, its entrails spilling out its back end. All of this was played against the backdrop of Neville's face. I shuddered.

"I was retired already, but I joined the militia. We learned how to close the gates, not just fight whatever beasts came out from it. We needed to look for the Sigil Stones."

_Sigil __Stones__…_ I could see the salty looking strips of flesh that constructed the walkways of the Sigil Keep. _Sigil __Keep?_ _For __what __reason __do __I __know __these __terms?_ I began to sweat. I saw the tall spire of flame that held the molten ball of rock as though it were a geyser pushing up some light object. I could see myself reaching out to touch it, possessed by some force of duty. The smell of rotting meat was thick in the air. I grasped at my skull, trying to peel back the flesh of my scalp with my nails, as though peeling potatoes. I could see a violated woman, bare naked, impaled on a spike. _Mother?_

"When we learned that there was another heir, we were relieved…"

More flashes. A kind face. Gentle. Reaching out to me. Requesting heresy in earnest. _Martin __Septim._The man who echoed his father's face. A man I learned had died for his country in my absence.

It was unthinkable! These fashioned memories of mine! But they were not. They were accurate in all forms. In my youth I trafficked Skooma. I was caught. I was imprisoned. I met the Emperor. He died. His son was discovered. Martin Septim. The amulet lost. Kvatch was saved. I sacrificed myself to my own cowardess.

_No. These are lies._

I silenced the heretic with my knife. The blade cut up from below his jaw to sever his tongue before driving itself into his brain. There was a momentary gagging sound before he slumped over dead at the table. It was a reflex. Immediately the offensive images stopped, and only the sixth guest remained.


	28. Azura and the Box

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia returns to the sanctuary to be reviled by Ocheeva for her poor execution of this special contract. She shrugs her off, more concerned with the soundness of her own mind. The trip across Cyrodiil had left her with much time to reflect on the meanings of the awful images Neville had reminded her of. Now, she will find out exactly truth of their origin. Recalling repressed memories is no small thing, though.

* * *

"What were you thinking? I am honestly at a loss for words! Fafnir's report shows that your performance was totally unsatisfactory! You forfeit the bonus!" Where the voices were coming from no longer mattered. Ocheeva had been laying into me for much of the morning since I returned from my contract. Too exhausted to comment, I tried my best to not pay much attention. "Have you nothing to say? You are speechless in your disgrace?"

"Are they not dead?" I hissed. "In a locked house, who cares if a murder is discovered? They are all dead."

"If you recall, there were certain _parameters _that you were instructed to satisfy. Nearly all of your hits indicate a struggle. What if someone from the outside heard? I have half a mind to demote you."

I hissed through my teeth and stood up from the stiff, wooden chair. Ocheeva simply had no appreciation for technique. Deviant technique, that is. The hit was made, and no one was any the wiser by the end of the night. I could not see what all of her fussing was for.

She continued to berate me as I made my way out of her quarters, hissing hateful things as I opened the heavy doors. _Could __she __not __see __that __my __constitution i__s __fragile?_ Something was amiss.

Ocheeva was clearly bitter and therefore not inclined to give me any contract for some time. It was a small thing, though. I seated myself at the table with the careful motion of someone who has fallen ill with Rockjoint. I rubbed my eyes with the pads of my fingers. The glue that held together my wit was drying up. All throughout my trip back to the Sanctuary, I was assaulted by the awful memories that that half-wit Neville had woken up in me. _This __cannot __be __me. __I __cannot __see __myself __in __these __places._ Perhaps if I thought it through, I could find the source of these taxing scenes, and dispel them finally. Perhaps it was the Whisperers again, masquerading their lies as truth, aiming to confuse me. They were notorious for making trouble. I would indulge them, think on it as hard as I could, and catch them in their lies. I closed my eyes.

_So __where __had __it __all __begun?_ There was the recurring image of barren land- charred, blackened earth… I could feel the temperature in the room rising as the image became clearer. The ground was so dry that it was prone to kicking up a dust storm with the slightest breeze. But, there was more. The world was not confined to this barren land. There was a grassy familiarity that bled the crusty image of the wastelands away. A large building. Stone. Cold and solid. I could almost shiver. The doors were open to me. If I pushed upon them, they yielded.

There was an intense pressure growing in the space between my brain and my skull, like air was being pumped into it. I would press forward.

I saw flickering firelight behind the doors. Its warmth washed over me. I couldn't breathe. The air was suddenly thin. _Why?_ I could feel myself gasping. _Where? __Where?_ I searched the room with my eyes. A leather-bound book. I could feel a hand grasp at my heart, pulling it from my chest. I wailed.

"_Why __look __at __this? __Why __do __you __look __at __this? __You __are __much __too __old __for __fairy __tales.__"_ Their tongues were sharp. Were they _deterring _me? The tables were quickly turning. Their lie would be exposed. I reached to the book, with great effort. It was old; ancient, even. My fingers burned to touch it.

A hand flew down on top of it. There was a muffled sound to my left, much like the sound of a drowning man. I craned my neck to look. _Pain!_ Clear through my skull like a shock-enchanted arrow! I grasped at my head. I would see that which was to be hidden from me. The room was growing dim and foggy. I would see. I would see. I exhaled. My mind's eyes strained themselves to turn about in my head. It was as though the Whisperers were paralyzing me, pulling at all my nerves like a rider pulls their horse's reigns. I would not obey. A sleeved arm held the hand at the wrist. I drew my eyes upward. The pain escalated; a deterring pain, not the pleasant pain of encouragement.

"Show yourself to me! Ngaaah!" This figure would listen. It would listen to an order. _He_ would listen to _my _orders. With a sudden jerk of my neck, a face crowded my vision. My mind fought to clarify these vague features. Slowly, the nose, eyes, and chin sculpted themselves out of the lumps of flesh. _To __whose __name __does __this __face __belong?_ I studied it and studied it as the blood built up behind my eyes. There was a terrible thumping in my head as I struggled to search for name for the face.

"I don't want you in any danger," he said, clear as day.

_Martin Septim._

It was like a torrent of wind suddenly raged over my body. My heartstrings were pulled; literally the arteries which fed my body were strained as my heart was wrenched in my chest. It was a white hot and burning pain, but I could not stop it. The images burned themselves upon my eyes, as I found myself remembering with great clarity much that I had wished to forget. Terrible red skies, ravenous animals, excruciating pain, and this overbearing sense of loss that could not be placed. I would claw my eyes out if I could, and I tore at them mercilessly, the pain pale to the severing of the cords to my heart.

"_Stop __trying __to __kill __yourself. __We __didn__'__t __want __to __remind __you __of __what __a __bad __girl __you__'__ve __been. __But __you __just __had __to __have __your __way, __like __a __belligerent __child,__" _they hissed.

The images dissolved. I opened my eyes. The sanctuary common area was empty. _How __long __have __I __been __here?_ I doubted it was this empty when I sat down.

I was suddenly aware of new, physical pain. My face stung and I found my throat to be sore, most likely from straining my voice. It was sure to be likened to when one is in the throes of a nightmare, believing they are crying out for help when they only lay still with a strained look upon their face. I was sure no one had noticed.

I was able to calm my breathing, but at length my mind remained ill at ease. There were things about myself I had wished to forget, of that I was sure. _But __what __was __it, __in __its __entirety?_ I deserted this man, not very long ago, and I hated myself for it. _Martin __Septim __was __to __be __the __heir __of __the __throne, __before __he __was __given __up __in __sacrifice. __What __happened __that __I __should __have __encountered __him? __And __why __have __I __forgotten? _Perhaps this would end like the story of _Azura __and __the __Box_; I have cursed myself.

I nearly drank myself to death that night.


	29. Guillotine

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia's spent countless days in the sanctuary doing little more than fermenting in the damp air. Progress has been made in attaining a true image of herself, but there is still much work to be done. Nothing will stop Lucien from doing what he came to do, regardless of the mood in the sanctuary. Instead of removing Hetalia from the guild at Ocheeva's request, he makes her his Silencer.

* * *

Everyone was in such a strange humor in the Sanctuary today. It had been a few days since I had returned. _What __had __changed?_ I spent my time alone, as I usually did, while I let Ocheeva continue to blow off some of her steam. I hoped she wouldn't blow off too much, or her cold blooded nature would force her to drop into sleep and leave me wandering aimless. I didn't like having the opportunity to have my hands free like this. There were enough things knocking around in my head as it were, and the spirits, no matter how much I consumed, could ever quite bring me to the state of mind I hoped for.

_Things __had __been __going __along __swimmingly __until __I __became __so __bound __up __with __the __lives __of __the __other __Brotherhood __members. __Lucien__'__s __absence __is __most __troubling, __though. __I __know __he __is __either __on __special __contract __or __dealing __with __some __important __administrative __tasks, __however the feeling of the closeness of death and the carnal excitement he brought in with him on the air seemed to be the only thing arresting enough to distracted me from the curious and deadly puzzles I faced. __I __could __feel __the __bearings __loosening __on __my __mind. __This __Septim __man __was __clearly __an __acquaintance- someone I had known. __We __had __worked __together __some __time __ago. __He__'__s __gone __now, __but __what __concern __is __this __at __all __for __me?_ _He __was __royalty. __The __last __of __his __bloodline, __I __had __heard. __I __was __never __of __the __patriotic __sort, __so __what __was __I __to __care? __The __Empire __was __getting __along __fine __on __its __own. __And __what __were __these __ties __to __these __barren __wastelands? _This I could not figure out. I had known the answer, but had been made to forget. _What __was __so __terrible __to __know __that __neither __the __Whisperer__s __nor __myself __would __allow __me __to __discover __the __contents __of __my own __mind? _I longed to dump my head out like a coin purse and count the gold pieces. And yet I was afraid to know.

"Sister…" I barely heard it_. __A __little __fly __buzzing._

It was an itching inconvenience to feel ineligible for an audience with your own self. _Was__I__unworthy?_ _A __man __of __power, __that __Martin __Septim, __with __a __name __as __shiny __as __what __he __was __named __for. __He __needed __me __to __do __something._ _What __had __been __my __duty? _I could feel my head beginning to pound, as it seemed to enjoy doing lately. _Of __what __service __could __I __be __to __the __shiny __head __on __my __coins? _Could I make the connection before the pain was too much?

"Sis—"

"_What_ do you want of me?" I shouted as I spun around. "Perhaps your Slayer hands work better when the only control you have over them is through Telekinesis?" I could tell I was already at the point of raving. _How __dare __she __interrupt __me! _Antionetta stood at my side, eyes wide, in a posture that almost gave her away as recoiling in fear. I eyed her up and down as I cackled. It was really much too funny, to see her all wrapped up like a rug as she stood there! "Go!" I cried. The nuisance dispersed.

The more I attempted to sift through the soot of my memory in the quest for gold, the more discouraged I became, but there was safety in that. It had been a few days since I had those fearful encounters with my own thoughts, and I was nearly glad to be rid of it. I had taken to drinking, more so than usual, not only to keep the whispers quiet but also to keep my mind out of the dangerous realm of speculation. The mind was a formidable weapon if allowed to remain sharp. Mine was double-edged. I felt as though I was only on the brink of existing.

I hadn't left the sanctuary in far too long. My brothers and sisters were likely growing tired of my presence, as they either refused to speak to me or avoided my eyes. The would wince when I parted my lips to speak. A terrible family. I knew I was in a sad state, and I hadn't the strength to be angry about it. It would soon end.

I could hear them murmuring still, the Whisperers, somewhere in the back of my mind. They rolled around my braincase, like pigs in filth, with their tongues lolling out of their mouth. This caricature was nearly funny, had I the strength to laugh.

"_The __Septim__'__s __wench __you __were__…__haha!__"_ They gurgled, lazy in their drunken state. They lacked sense. Their words scratched at the insides of my head, causing me to push the sides of it together to keep it from coming apart. They had a habit of reciting such offensive things as of late, made to send me up in alarm, rather than their idle observations and harmless suggestions. They were relatively quiet though, like children nodding off to sleep, so the scabs I had carved into my scalp were beginning to heal.

I could hear whispering again. I swatted at the air around my head as one would swat a fly. _Wait, __it __is __coming __from __over __there._ I became still. Someone was talking, low and quiet in the closed room next door. Two male voices… and Ocheeva, was it? I could not help up eavesdrop.

"Something must be done. She should be removed from the Brotherhood, if not transferred. The other members are disturbed by her fits. They've been going on all week!" They were all in whispers.

"Did she complete the contract you assigned?"

"Y-Yes, but… her skill is failing. You've read the report." I recognized Ocheeva's voice.

"I don't—"

"Even I keep my distance. And she was never too fond of me." And Vicente's.

"…I see."

"Speaker, you must do something! You must put your personal affairs aside for the good of your sanctuary."

A moment later there was the clanging of heavy doors opening. Exiting were the owners of the two voices I heard, and my Speaker, himself. Despite my state, I rose to my feet. If anyone was deserving of my respect, it was this man.

In the corner of my eye, I could see Ocheeva and Vicente freeze as they realized my presence. No doubt they suddenly wondered if they had been speaking too loudly. But Lucien, no, he would greet me. Not all of us were suited to running with swine through the marshes of idiocy.

"It has been entirely too long," he purred, received the hand I offered. "My lady, we must…talk." He pressed his lips to my hand.

"Very well." He was a man of good judgment, a patron of the arts. I could not invest my entire trust, but he was of a discerning mind.

"Shall we go somewhere to be alone?" He inquired. I heard the clanging of doors again. The other two had disappeared. Most likely they were pressing their ears to the cracks in the door to listen for our discourse. I had heard theirs. They would so be permitted to hear mine.

"If it is talking you truly wish to do, this very spot is as good as anywhere, Speaker," I assured. I could hear him snicker a bit under his breath; _perhaps __he __also __had __other __pleasurable __things __on __his __mind._

"I've read the assessment of your exhibit at Summitmist," he began. _Exhibit?_ _This__man._

"Yes, Speaker?" _Would __he __congratulate __me, __or __spurn __me __as __did __the __others? _To do so would force me to tear my still beating heart from my chest. And then Ocheeva's.

His mouth curled up in a ghastly smile. He was pleased.

"Most excellent work," he chuckled. "I saw your aim. Played them well against one another. A little bloody perhaps, but that is something refreshing for you. Shows your… _versatility._" There was a carnal growl in his final words.

My dead heart was fluttering. My palms became damp. I inhaled the perfume of the forest he carried on his hair and robe.

"I am…glad that you are pleased with my progress…, Speaker." Words were becoming hard to spit out. I could hear, nae, nearly feel rolling laughter building up in my head. Once the blood was flowing they couldn't help but begin their show again.

"There is an important position open, if it suits you." _How __can __I __refuse?_ "I am in need of a Silencer. I appoint you. It will allow you to serve me more… directly."

"I am at your command." I didn't hesitate. _What __can __I __do __but __agree?_ Perhaps it would get me out of this damned hole in the ground, and back to work. Perhaps this was what I needed; if my hands were busy I could distract myself from the difficulties of the moment. Everything would be all right now.

Lucien gave a nod and withdrew from me. He crossed the floor and pulled open the closed chamber door with a great exertion of force, only to see Ocheeva stumble forth, having lost the surface she had been pressing her face to.

Ocheeva looked little more than dumbfounded_. __The __wretch __fixed __to __get __rid __of __me, __the __calculating __worm! __Had __I __not __made __clear __that __I __would __use __my __charm __and __quick __wit __to __rule __this __sanctuary_? I was now in a position above even that of Ocheeva's den mother status. Perhaps this was what I needed; I needed to feel secure in my position amongst the rest. Everything would be all right now.

He turned back to me.

"Needless to say, you will be reporting to my _personal_quarters rather than the Sanctuary. I hope that is not a problem."

_A problem, now? I'm sure it will make Cheydinhal's little group of murderers sing to know that they can sleep a little more soundly in their beds at night. However, that does not make them out of my reach._

"Not at all. I will do what is required of me as _Silencer_." The word slid around in my mouth, like guillotine blades, sharp and beautiful. I could feel the meaning of this moment slicing through Ocheeva's heart. No doubt Antionetta would be a bit jealous herself.

There was little ceremony to be had at Fort Farragut, a ruin I had long overlooked in my travels. Lucien received me immediately when I arrived, and dismissed his otherworldly guardians. Yet another sensible precaution taken by a brilliant man. His quarters were done up in much better taste than the well house I had grown accustomed to. The ceilings were high and the walls were decorated in a charming Spartan design. The bed at first glance seemed entirely too small, though. For my purposes this would simply not do. However, a bed was only one of many places suited to my purpose.

"Come here." He signaled me over to the candlelight in the far reaches of his private quarters. "There is yet another important matter to discuss."

My curiosity was peaked. Whatever came out of Monsieur Lachance's mouth was absolutely worth hearing. It was like a secret bit of gossip being whispered into your heart when he spoke. I made my way to his table.

"Sit," he instructed.

I did.

"You have spent much time in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Undoubtedly you have ties there," he mused, talking into his hand as he supported his chin and rested his elbow on the table. Then he turned to me and spoke clearly. "But my arrival today was no mistake; I was coming expressly to fetch you. There is a task that the Black Hand has entrusted to me, and rightfully so, as it pertains to my Sanctuary. This is no small matter. Are you ready?" I nodded, suddenly eager.

"There is an assassin amongst assassins rotting the Dark Brotherhood. It has become clear to the Hand that, regrettably, the origin is the Cheydinhal Sanctuary."

_Have __I __done __something __wrong? __Had __he __brought __me __here __to __kill __me? __I __have __followed __those __wretched __Tenets __flawlessly __since __he __had __assigned __me __them! _I didn't know whether to be angry or frightened. Being sensible, I knew he could easily overwhelm me, whether I allowed him to, or not.

"_To __kill __you __without __any __witnesses. __He __is __a __serpent __even __slimier __than __you! __He __already __stole __your __trust, __crawling __up __inside __of __you,__" _they hissed. I tried to blink them away.

"Relax, child. This taint precedes your arrival to the Brotherhood. Of this the Hand is sure. The Black Hand is most pleased with your success thus far. I in particular see all of the promise you bring. That is why I am extending you the honor of this… special contract." He stood up straight and grasped his chin in his hand. He resumed his all too familiar menacing pace as he began to divulge the details. "There is an ancient rite called the Purification. It is as it sounds—the Cheydinhal Sactuary must be purged. Ocheeva, Teinaava and all."

"And all?" _Could __this __really __be __true?_ I had lived under their scorn for some time now. They were hateful little things, jealous of my ability and the favors I curried. _But __to __eliminate __them?_ Perhaps it was a godsend. _Yes, __truly __this __would __be __the __culmination __of __everything __I__'__ve __worked __for __thus __far._ "My Speaker…"

"I understand this is a strange turn of events. I am confident in your loyalty to Sithis. You surely see this as an opportunity to do our Dread Father a _great _service." _Loyalty __to __Sithis?_ A poorly played joke. It was my understanding that the Brotherhood killed for the joy of killing. I killed for art, not some transient sense of loyalty.

"A thousand times, yes!" I would give him the answer he wanted, so as to receive the response I needed. "My will is the will of Sithis."

"_Excellent_." The all too familiar Cheshire smile wrapped itself around his face. Something was burning, dark and cold inside of his heart. It showed in his eyes. He was a brooding fortress I would soon impregnate. The Sanctuary was mine. The time was now.


	30. Forked Tongues

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

A (hopefully) long awaited installment of ATCL! Thank you for staying with us and I hope that you continue to follow Hetalila's journey through to the end!

Chapter Summary:

Hetalia carries out her first duty as Silencer and reports her success to her superior, who is engrossed in the task at hand and his duty to keep the guild operating like a machine despite the lack of local manpower. Hetalia mistakes his business head for something else, until it becomes something else entirely.

* * *

We had a most curious relationship, my Lucien and I. Up until now he hadn't visited as much as I would have liked him to, but that was fine by me. It was in the longing that others were appreciated. I had become far too disgusted by others who saw it fit to cling to me like soiled linens. To be reporting to his personal quarters for my instructions seemed an almost surreal event, and stirred the brains up in my head. The man had a way with words, and a way with my body. I admired him for the things he could do. A marvel, he was. But to bring the complexities of the long dead heart into it was best left to a bard's song.

I was freed of the Tenets now, an alchemist's list of reagents that would threaten to cause the cauldron to boil over should one be forgotten. Now they seemed like a child's game, inconsequential rules that were simply meant to see if I was paying him mind. For murderers to refrain from the murder of their partners in trade was like forbidding a cabbage farmer to partake of his neighbor's carrot crop.

I could still hear blood dripping from the beams supporting the ceiling of the sanctuary. _Drip._ A moment for thought, and again: _drip._ Perhaps I had been a bit overzealous when it came for Antionetta's final bow. They were my family, so I had been indoctrinated. To neglect to show my true face, my true feelings, my true intent before this family would be no more than an insult. One does not wish for regrets as they visit a death bed.

I couldn't tell if the arm next to her belong to her or another. Perhaps I was a bit careless, but it was for spite, of course. Ocheeva would see what a real struggle was, and how I had gone to great lengths to avoid it at Summitmist. _Hmph, _she had died with much less effort than I had thought. Surely no one in the city above would hear their cries, or care to hear them. The Duke knew we were here and cared not so long as we stayed out of this court. New management meant for a new try at negotiations, however.

Fur hung in the air in tufts, like snow settling to the ground after it had been whipped up by a rogue breeze. M'raaj-Dar I had tended to avoid at all costs since my arrival. I wasn't even sure if I ever spoke to him, really. He kept to himself, likely sleeping as cats do, in a corner in the basement. Perhaps he could not show himself to me, for who could know what he had done to achieve his rank here in the Sanctuary or the Brotherhood at all? Rapists and liars, addicts to the crystals and the juice of their mother moon, all. An elixir that operated like tiny blades tearing at your throat when swallowed, but it delivered such euphoria. I had skinned him, as a cat should be. Perhaps his hide would make a fine pair of house shoes. I would have to see to it.

_M'raaj-Dar, Gro-Bolmog, Teinaava, Vicente, Antionetta, and Ocheeva_. I counted their names on my fingers. _For whom was I yet waiting for_? Telaendril. The tree-dweller was as flighty as a leaf on the trees she so loves. It was almost as though she knew her time was up, but she nary spent much time in the Sanctuary beforehand anyhow. I hoped the bouquet of death had not risen to the street yet, or perhaps she would not return, and I would be left here waiting.

I had not always been fond of the blade. Magicks had once been my weapon of choice. There was something carnal in the act of filleting, though. Something that had piqued my curiosity long ago. I no longer felt the need to be a student of anatomy, and instead indulged in the rhythm of the blade. There was something to be appreciated in the sound the sharpened edge made alone—like the shrill tune of the lark, splitting the chilled morning air.

I could hear stirring at the well grate above. _Guards? No. Perhaps Telaendril has made a homecoming._ I took a deep breath before slipping the stained woe blade up into my sleeve. This would be quick. I could hear careful footsteps as a light-footed someone climbed down the rungs of the well ladder. My back pressed against the cold stone façade beside the doorway, I prepared to throw myself into her sights the moment she entered.

"Telaendril! Sister!" I shot myself away from the wall and held my arms out to offer an embrace.

Telaendril's eyes adjusted to the moment. They were wide with questions. The smile was beginning to cause my face to smart. It had been some time since these muscles had been exercised.

"…Sister?"

"Telaendril! For you I have been awaiting with great anticipation!" She was noticing the changes in the air already. I could only wonder how long it would take her to come to a_ full_ realization… It was such a rare treat to see her in such a state. She was visibly uncomfortable; that meant either as an assassin either she failed or I succeeded.

"Where is… Gogron?" _Why, I believe I last saw him nailed to the archery target._

"Just inside. Come with me," I spoke through my twisting, aching, smiling face.

Her hesitation was growing. I began to process backwards into the Sanctuary, but she refused to move or change her gaze. Something wet touched my face. _Oh._ The beams were still dripping. I saw Telaendril's face change. Her eyes began to move around the room, growing larger and larger to accommodate her horror. The blood droplet twisted around my contorted facial muscles. I grabbed hold the blade, tore it through my sleeve, and sunk it in deep.

My manufactured demeanor fell from my face like an amulet held by a faulty clasp.

It was finished.

She gasped a bit, in disbelief that she'd been taken by surprise. She evidently didn't believe in my manner, my dedication, my ability to control this sanctuary. Perhaps she had simply hoped for a more glamorous death. Well then, my only suggestion would have been to have achieved a higher rank. An Assassin could hope for no more.

"It is finished," I cooed. The clammy stone walls echoed my satisfaction. Lucien was busying himself over something at his desk, and I was able to cross his bedchamber before he paid me any mind. "It is finished," I said again. Had he not heard?

"So it is." He said it with a sense of finality, as though a chapter had been closed and now he was tasked with beginning a chapter anew. He pulled himself up from the chair, blocking with his back whatever he had been scouring.

"You should go and see it before the bodies take to rotting. Should they rot, the sanctuary will need to be sealed off." Even I could not endure the odor of betrayal as it would leak from the rotting corpses of the traitorous vermin. The poison would run like a river.

"I trust all is in order. I will send word to the Imperial City's chapter to send along a battery of Murderers to do the housekeeping. It is a good way for them to learn their place." He glanced backward at the items on his desk. I watched his eyebrows knit, purl, and then drop the stitch. "Yes, they must know their place." He closed his eyes momentarily.

He must be referring to the sense of irreverence his Sanctuary had adopted. Surely it was hurtful to him, to see his child pregnant with the blighted worms of treachery. He had been so careful, I'm sure. There was only one way to begin again, and that was to purge. I had steadied my hand and killed the ailing child. I blinked away the sadness. This was no place for sadness, but only the solemnity of responsibility. As his Silencer, undoubtedly it would be my duty to aid in the rebuilding of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary—to labor and then nurse the tiny seedlings of filth and death here. I could be midwife and mother in this.

"Shall I help you breathe new life into this sanctuary, Speaker? Or do I only bring silence as Silencer?" I shifted my weight several times as he looked on at me, speculatively. I saw the beginnings of a smirk pluck at the stubble upon his cheeks, but then it disappeared. Surely he was musing on something delicious for a moment.

"There is a matter that requires your attention." He had resumed his business-like affect and squared his hips before me.

"And that would be?"

"The details remain to be seen at Hero Hill. I do not have them."

"What is this?" I was incredulous. His manner vibrated through him; the whole body of this snake was twitching. I could feel my lips pull back over my teeth.

"_You are not as dumb as you look, girl. But has it really taken you think long to discover the truth? His truth?" _I have eliminated all, proved my loyalty, and now he sends me away? Surely, they are right. For once I could agree with them. "You intend to kill me on Hero Hill?" _How dare he?_

"No. What madness…?" _Again, knit._ I wait impatiently for the impending purl.

"Ah, yes, you would _have me_ killed." I circled him. He would not take me unawares. "No sense in dirtying your own most _expert _hands." I could hear my voice slice through the air. Something was welling up in me. Anger? Arousal, perhaps? I could hear them hissing behind my eyes.

He placed his finger tips on the desk behind him. I could see his fingers flex as his silence gave way to words.

"I do not see your jest. Your contract details shall be provided at Hero Hill. This is the way of the Black Hand, do you not understand?" His voice moved in straight lines. _Knit, knit, when comes the purl? _

"What are the ways of the Hand? Indulge me. They operate differently from yours?" I shifted my weight again. The Whisperers hissed again. Finally, the p_url!_

"_What are you doing? Sleep with the enemy? Oh my, you are…!"_

They chattered on, but I saw through the cloud. A misunderstanding. I saw it now. But there was something delicious brewing here. Something that might be lost should I confirm my realization. I stayed the Whisperers in the air with my hand.

"I am bound by the ways of the Hand," he purred.

"I would like to experience that." The words fell out like lava, coursing from my veins and out my mouth like a slathering dog.


	31. Rampant

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

A (hopefully) long awaited installment of ATCL! Thank you for staying with us and I hope that you continue to follow Hetalila's journey through to the end!

Chapter Summary:

Her authority is asserted, compliance is bought, and Hetalia receives her second contract from Lucien. The death of a Necromancer is no small thing, but for Hetalia, heckled incessantly by the onlookers behind her eyes, Celedaen's death might have given birth to a strange scheme or two of hers.

* * *

He was coiled up next to me, twisted up in my body. My legs and arms ached with satisfaction, but there was yet a pressing matter on my mind. _What was this that he would have me attain my assignments from a third party?_ It left me wondering even after such an interesting diversion.

"So, I am waiting. What is the meaning of this? I thought we understood one another that I would be answering directly to you for the foreseeable future."

"The function of the Silencer is to follow the orders of their Speaker. You will do as I command."

"_Surely you are more than this, Duchess. Surely you are den mother, too, now."_ Itching. Itching. I could feel an itch creeping up my spine. They were right, again. How could this be? Lucien had struck me as a man of his word, but something was amiss here. He would order me without as much as a negotiation? I would have thought our "unique" situation would be enough to tip the scales. All I wanted from the man was control. It would have to start with my contracts. I snaked around his body so that I could sit up, poised so that I sat beside his waist.

"Without as much as a try at negotiations? Surely, you take me for a fool. Now, let us negotiate."

"I've carried out my own negotiations, sister. If I were to have my way I would keep you from venturing out for these contracts at all. But, the Hand cares not for my will, nor your stipulations." He grazed a lazy finger up the length of my arm. Heat was building low in my belly, and my spine was burning with insatiable itch. _No. _I grated my teeth together.

"_Keep you as a pet, he'd rather. Ashamed to have you out in the world. You must have really made a mess for him with your sloppy workmanship. You used to be a rather buxom woman, too. What happened to all of that? He's tired of you. You should have taken your teeth to him when you went to lie."_

"…Are you well, sister?" thundered through my head through the clouds. I took the vile hand that would place itself on me and turned on the beast.

"You would take from me the one thing to which I can claim ownership? My work? You would take from me my work and my purpose?" I peered down at him from my fog of rage, churning, churning, deep in my bowels. "You are a cruel master, Lucien Lachance," I sneered and spat into his face.

He shoved me off of him. The cloaks of my rage swirled around me, creating a most becoming collar.

"_You shall tear his flesh from the bone! Devour him, man-eater!"_

"In the name of Sithis, what has bitten you? Has your mind taken to rotting?" Lucien raised an arm in his defense, as though to fan away the off cast vapors of spite work. I made a grab for his blade, but alas, naked, the one he sought was not there.

_What _am_ I doing?_ I noticed my hair had fallen like a tangled mane round my head. This man, powerful, dignified, this man I had taken to bed with me, I was turning on him. I stared below his gaze and felt around with my fingertips at the floor. _Gods! Where is the damned vial?_ It was tangled up in my fallen trappings. I felt lightheaded, as though I couldn't breathe anymore. I untangled it from my corset laces and purse string and went to work on the cork. I broke my gaze to bring my attention to the bottle. Suddenly my body felt sick and cold; I felt weak. _What was this feeling? Regret?_

"_You've gone and beaten yourself into submission. That's why you'll never get what you're after. You're going soft. We've gone and cast our lot with you and where has it gotten us? You're better off dead."_

I curled over the tiny bottle and plucked the cork from its holding. I rushed it to my lips. _Dear elixir, it has been too long! _It would shut out the beasts and quell the shivering. I felt a vibration in my back and I righted myself, resuming normal posture. Lucien was still staring oddly. I had nearly forgotten he was still here.

"Do you often partake of such illicit drink, sister?" _Do I detect condescension? _It was difficult to say for sure. I reached down and tugged again at my purse, and produced another small bottle. I dropped the other to the floor and rushed the newly opened bottle into my mouth. It burned like fire, but that meant it was killing the demons, those whispering things inside me. I needed to think carefully.

My lips tugged at the mouth of the bottle. I tried to coax it with the gentle "come hither" of my tongue. It was empty.

"I refuse to take orders from someone else. You'll give me the assignment here and now, and that's how it ought to be. Else, you can rebuild this rats' nest on your own," I hissed.

"I do not make the rules, sister. The dead drops ensure confidentiality. I am not at liberty. I hope you are now more… agreeable in this?"

"Lucien." Perhaps I had been addressing this incorrectly. It was key that my manner reflected my purpose. My purpose was to get that which I desired, and for that the order of the moment was finessing. I pressed myself against him, still naked on the bed. "Lucien, I desire to be near to you. If I am sent away my work shall suffer. Can you not make an exception for this lovely lady that has so bewitched you?" The twinkle in my eyes was seen reflected in his own. _Perhaps this might work._

"You've been asked to find a Necromancer, Celedaen, in a cave nearby Bravil," he let out in a sigh. "He needs to be killed before he reaches Lichdom." Lucient refused to meet my eyes, opting to look rather up and away.

"You're a prince, Monsieur." I pressed my bare breasts against his slightly parted mouth before withdrawing. I could feel my heart fluttering. I desired not to hurt this man. A strange feeling. And yet, despite my marveling at my own feelings, I couldn't help but wonder: _how does one quite kill a Lich?_

I poured over the dusty tome in the vestibule of the cave. It had been called "Leafrot Cave" by the natives on the road, and the sickly stench that permeated the place made the name well-deserved. The alchemical beakers glistened whorishly in the candlelight. There was no other way to describe it. Only a self-important vessel like that would glitter so brightly.

The tome seemed to be a journal by the way that it drolled on and on about author's frustrations. He wished to serve his Sovereign for all of eternity in undeath. _It sounds boundlessly boring and unpleasant._ One lifetime seemed like enough of suffering. _Why would one want to continue servitude into death?_ It looked like the extent of my abilities needed would be pick-pocketing. If I could get the momentous "Sands of Resolve" off of Celedaen's person, he'd drop into the dirt like ill hung linens. The situation seemed like a poorly planned joke. I was no expert at pick-pocketing, but neither was I prepared to go hard and fast against such an accomplished mage. Seduction was often my most valuable tool in these things, but these mage types were always so hard to find common ground with. _Oh, the affairs of wizards- definitely beyond all conceivable human affairs._

There was a hotness welling up in my chest. I pressed my back against the cool, moist cave wall, hoping for some relief. The intoxication wrought by the Skooma was the only way to work out an uninterrupted thought, but the headiness of the drug still made me ill at ease. I wondered if I hadn't reached my limit of the stuff.

"_He waits… he waits," _they whispered low and nearly inaudible in my mind. Nothing could quite quiet them, and oftentimes I could not care either way. They were not to be indulged, not to be listened to. Nevertheless, I fell prey on many an occasion.

I heard footsteps, low and careful. A full Lich would tread heavily on the ground, sure of himself, secure in his undeath. Undoubtedly, Celedaen had yet to reach Lichdom.

"Who's there?" I heard a voice call in the darkness. The would-be Worm Eremite was coiled on himself in this womb in the earth. Incubating. Premature. Ripe to be torn from his roost. Would I extend the stick like and ape and drag him out of the termite hole and into the sunlight. Into my jaws?

Something glinted in the candlelight. An hourglass shape hung low on his waist, swaddled in leather cords. I checked for my blade. _If only to cut the cords… it would fall easily._ There was no time to think. The thought shot by that I might be being foolish—it was too soon. It seemed as though the time was now, and if I did not seize the moment, I might have had to expose myself and battle to the bitter end.

I shot up from a crouch near the doorway and cut the cords.

The body fell forward with a vague murmur and as it struck the ground the Whisperers sizzled up into my head like rising vapors.

"_I didn't think she had it in her."_

"_What a heartless cur—she didn't even give it a second thought."_

"_Not a moment to allow a reaction! Splendid!"_

"_But there is no blood!"_

"_No blood? No blood!"_

"_Where is it? Surely, it must be here."_

"_It's always here. Right here."  
"Clean hands? Your hands are not clean! Liar! What have you done?"_

"_What have you done? You've ruined it all!"_

"_He lives! There can be no death without blood!"_

"_Blood! Blood!"_

The chattered and carried on, their breath increasing the pressure inside my head. I held the sides together. _No blood?_ No, there wasn't. The Sands had dropped to the ground and shattered. There was nothing left to be done. _It was too easy… why did I not go the more artistic route?_ _A mistake. _He lay dead without a fight. He remained ugly, misshapen, forgotten. It was a hideous mistake.

"_Mistake? You are the mistake. An unforgivable mistake."_

"_You've failed us."_

"_You ought to die."_

"_Get on with it so we can find someone else who will do more exciting things."_

_Damn you, quiet! _They would not still. The pressure was building.

"_You're a waste."_

"_Go on, no one will miss you."_

There was an aching pain growing in my chest. This target, this Celedaen, wanted for eternal life; he wanted to carry on his life's work. He had the potential to ascend to his own greatness. _I want to die so that I may be reborn. I ought to incubate myself and foster new life. I could conscribe a new soul. Begin a new mission…_

"_Like you've done before? Your _betrayal._ Yes, that's what it's called. It's not a noble thing, but neither was rolling in the hay with a man of the gods."_

"_Never stopped you, you lout."_

"_Turncoat."_

"_Turncoat whore."_

_I have none of it here. I cannot take it… stop it… stop. I must have a drop somewhere. I must quiet them. _There was no Skooma to be had here. My mind was clawing at itself. _I need to get air into my head. I need to let out the pressure from these voices. There are too many. Too much at once._

"_You're stuck with us. Get on with it."_

I wanted to separate from my body. There was no hope. The daydreams of Elytra shot back into my brain. I could be alright if I could just be born again. If I were new again, there would be a chance. The Whisperers could stay here, these feelings of sickness could stay behind and I could go on. _This Necromancer was to be born again. Surely there must still be some magic in him…_

I produced my knife.

"_Oh…?"_ They all turned the attention to me and their independent chatter quelled.

_Yes, there ought to still be some magic in this man._


	32. Skins

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

**I'd like to take a moment to turn your attention to the unfortunate truth that ATCL is nearing its end. I shall continue to write fanfiction, on the world around us, and original fiction, but I am not sure if I will be publicizing it on any longer on this site. Instead, this story and much more can be found on my personal writing blog located at "glaring fallacies dot wordpress dot com". (Please replace the "dot"s with a period, no spaces) I hope that you will take the time to read more of my work and comment there. On that site you can send me personal messages, suggestions, and advice and I'll be sure to get back to you and answer any questions you may have. I look forward to hearing from all of you.**

Chapter Summary:

Memories of Elytra and Relmyna's expertise cloud perception and Hetalia forms a plan of how to achieve her goal: rebirth. Instead of finding that which she's sought, she finds her own horror and further confusion. Silencers have been attacked, even killed. The Hand doesn't suspect Hetalia, but the Whisperers do. She leaves Lucien in a try of rediscovering her sanity, and resolves to continue business as usual, however with a new distance on their relationship.

* * *

There was sudden need for great haste. The real danger of being discovered was very minimal, but electricity shot up and around my veins, compelling me to hurry along. _This could work. This could work._

Celedaen had been rather frail. His body lacked substantial muscle and he was otherwise slender as well. It did not take long to carve him up the length of his body. _The ribcage was the hardest part, but I got it out after all._ A pile of bones lay neatly stacked beside the skin. I assessed my work from above, towering over the eviscerated body—my vessel. There was magic in him, and I would be sure to get my hands on it. The Elytra knew the secret.

His heart was still slightly warm. It was opportune eating temperature, then. The illnesses contained in the human body were all cooked out at this temperature, were they not? The perfect temperature to kill the sickness but leave the magick intact. _Perfect._

I looked meaningfully at the heart. It looked enough like an apple to eat like an apple. I pressed it to my lips and bit into it. It was rather dry compared to what I expected, but the resistance the muscle gave against my teeth illustrated that this heart had been strong. _There is much magic here. There is only one other step._

The Whisperers' chatter had turned to a broth of words that was not easily discerned. They were whispering amongst themselves, it seemed. It was alright. I knew what to do. I looked down at my bloodied hands. _There's not much time left. The magick will seep into the dirt before long. My clothes! They'll be in the way! _Hastily I peeled off my finery, hearing stitches pop and hems tear as I worked. I pulled at the cord of the corset with great force. My hands were burning. _I have to be careful not to callus myself any further. It won't sink in otherwise._

"_Move faster! Time is short!"_ one lonely voice championed.

I was bare naked, finally. The corpse knew better than to gawk at me, for its eyes had been shut for a while. It wouldn't dare to open them. A chill blew through the caverns. The time was now. I would be reborn.

I lay down on the ground next to the vessel. I pulled the skin towards me. It was still clammy and smelled of the earth. I pulled it nearer. The remaining blood smeared over my naked flesh. My senses alighted from the sensation. I shrugged into the rest of the skin like a warm embrace from behind. _Yes, I can feel it working. Finally._

I stretched my arms into the fleshy sleeves and brushed my legs against the Elven leather. I closed my eyes. I waited. The blood smeared on my body as I fidgeted, giving me a gentle massage in all areas where it touched. I waited.

I waited.

I stared ahead and waited.

I looked around me, at the gruesome skin I had put on. Something occurred to me suddenly—_What do I wish to gain from this? Wearing another's skin? How was this going to work? Had this _ever _worked? It's starting to smell._ I shivered out of the leather, newly horrified.

I stood up. I covered my naked breasts with my hands. What was this I was up to? Wearing another's skin? Surely, art could be seen in the carving of a marble slab or a cadaver, but this? What exactly _was _this?

I stared down until I could will myself to blink away. I gathered up my garb and tossed it over my body. It clung to my flesh, impeded from shifting downward by the stickiness of the blood that covered by entire body.

I tore out of there.

"Are you cold, sister?"

_No._ I was shaking violently. My eyes were darting all about. A long forgotten illness was welling up in my body. I had only wanted to be born once more, given another chance. It was taken from me. My salvation, taken. _A Necromancer of Celedaen's supposed stature should have carried enough magick to give me what I needed. It was a set up. Some dark magick must have been at work to thwart my plan. Yes. Something had been done there that shouldn't have been._

"Hetaly." _What?_ It had been the first and only time he had addressed me by name. _Not entirely true._ It had been the first time Lucien addressed me by name while dressed. A hand came to rest on my shoulder.

_No. He's too close. _The Whisperers hissed in the back of my mind.

"Are you feeling ill?" he said. I stood up, stiff.

"I have reconsidered. Give me the location of the next dead drop." _He is too close now. _His touch made me shiver with aversion.

"I do not think it is wise that you leave." There was bewilderment in his voice, but something dark, too. _Didn't he see this coming? I have tired of him before he could tire of me, I supposed. _Something contracted in my chest. I blinked it away, digesting his words. _Was this about the traitor?_

"_Your strange behavior is giving you away. He knows you have no shame turning on a kinsman. You've already knelt over him like a Hunger. He suspects you."_

"Is this about the rat in the pot?"

"Perhaps…"

"You suspect me then, dear Speaker? You, who have invited me to lie in your bed and stand at your right hand? Does the Hand pull at your strings?" _If I really were suspected… I would be dead already, wouldn't I?_

"What? Sister, for your safety I advise now you stay. You know my aversion to let you take on further contracts. Since you refused the dead drops… I had assumed you'd remain here with me, where your safety could be ensured."

"You doubt my competency? You think this bitter blood in the brotherhood can damage the Hand? Why are you so sure that I am not the bad seed? Am I not skilled enough to subvert the glorious Hand?"

"_Temper, temper…"_

"Silencers have been ambushed. One has been killed. It's escalating."

"The hits must continue. Business must move forward."

"I have counseled with the Hand. They are not fond of your dealings, but our suspicions of treachery have predated your arrival. It is best advised not to press your luck, though, sister. The Hand is consulting with the Night Mother."

"The Night Mother?"

"We are considering putting a halt on operations until this is sorted out."

"Nonsense, the show must go on." My eyes widened. _Cancel the contracts? If the ritual has been carried out, the doomed must die. _I could not fathom anything being done any differently. I was astonished. Could they go on living without a contract? _Without one there is no purpose._ I had not been privy to the brotherhood's dealings for very long, but the thought that a senior guild member could entertain halting operations at such a time seemed as though it should violate one of those arbitrary tenets.

"You must stay here for the time being. I will alert you when there is news." He closed the space between us and grabbed my wrists. They were stiff at my sides. "Stay." He pushed his face in front of mine, imploring. I could feel his hot, desperate breath on my nose. I wriggled from his grasp and tore myself away. I could not be here with this man any longer.

"Where is the next dead drop? I must leave now. Where is the dead drop?"

"It is best you abide the Hand's advisements."

"The drop? Where is it?" I cried. I called up the fire into my hands. He would not continue to play in the safety of my gentle side. The burn felt so good. My own magick had long been dormant.

"Chorrol. Near the tree." Lucien's voice seemed to betray his expression. His face was solid as it had ever been—chiseled and expressionless. In his voice there was something new, though. What was it? Fear?

_No, I am not aiming to leave this man to die. There is something in him which I can't put my finger on. The strings of my fate seem to be tangled up in his own. But, I cannot be here now._

In solitude I could think. Well, I had a semblance of real thinking, perhaps. The chatter went on, incessantly, though.

"_You left him. Now he's done for. Gone. Goodbye. Adieu."_

"_He's probably the traitor, the killer. You're lucky to have gotten out of there, dearest Duchess."_

"_Fools. You killed that Silencer, remember? No one suspects you. Be proud, but do not let it show. They will see the glittering in your eye and snuff the candle!"_

_No. I hadn't remembered coming upon a Silencer. Only Celedaen since the news. Surely I would remember such a great ordeal as tangling with a fellow Silencer._

"_You said it yourself: 'how can I be expected to abstain from the murder of my guild mates?'"_

_Had I said that?_

"_Like the carrot farmer and the cabbage farmer. You've picked the fruit from another's tree. Don't you remember?"_

_No. No, no. _The sides of my face were scorching. A whimper of pain escaped my lips. With great trepidation I removed my nails that were deeply imbedded in the sides of my face. They were overwhelming me. For once, for once I was not in control.

"_He's killed them all. All along! You don't believe? He aims to take over the guild with your help and then silence you, forever, like the rest! You cannot stop the wheel that has begun rolling!"_

"No, I refuse to believe it. It's nonsense," I called out in the darkness of my solitude.

"_Failure! You would believe us if you were only worth the price it takes to clothe you. Worthless. Your abuse of the sugar drink has ruined your sense."_

"No, leave me be! You do not know what you're talking about!"

"_You do not see it because you love him!"_

"_Love him? No," _they chuckled.

"_Love him, really? You are a sad sort."_

"_A failure, we think. Should've stayed lying in the rotting body of that Necromancer. We'd rather dwell in his dead mind."_

_Love him?_ Something shot through me. _No, nonsense!_

"You're bluffing! You do not know my heart! You cannot know my heart! I have no heart!" I shouted it into the back of the room. It echoed and returned to me, strengthening my resolve. The walls knew it was true. False and there would have been no echo.

"_Not convinced, Duchess? Then we suppose business continues as usual for you, hmm? Off you go to your death in Chorrol?"_

"I go to the next dead drop. And then the one after. There is yet hope for the brotherhood. I will seize its bootstraps and drag it up from the ground. This traitor will breathe his last. If there is destruction to be had it will be by my hand! Not even death shall contain me!"

"_Be careful what you wish for, Dearest," they warned._


	33. Rumor Has It

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

**I'd like to take a moment to turn your attention to the unfortunate truth that ATCL is nearing its end. I shall continue to write on fanfiction, the world around us, and original fiction, but I am not sure if I will be publicizing it on any longer. Instead, this story and much more can be found on my personal writing blog: at glaringfallacies [dott] wordpress [dotcom]. I hope that you will take the time to read more of my work and comment there. On that site you can send me personal messages, suggestions, and advice and I'll be sure to get back to you and answer any questions you may have. I look forward to hearing from all of you.**

Chapter Summary:

The death of a Woodelf culminates in an interesting development—Hetalia discovers that she's been killing off the governing body of the Brotherhood. She and Lucien flee for Applewatch on foot, separately. Hetalia is left to confront her own demons, the keepers of her memories, and her life before the soul sickness began. In the dark night along the Red Ring Road, ghosts of times past haunt, all at once both swaying and strengthening resolve. **Get ready for the long-awaited finale in the next and final chapter: A Kiss Before Dying!**

* * *

And the dead drops did continue, and the dead continued to drop. I punished families, covert thugs, and other miscellanea as instructed. The wheel would continue to roll, unstoppable, crushing any and all adversity from the present situation. Only by the fearsome velocity of the wheel spurred from an unrelenting hand of death could the Brotherhood overcome, and it would. Ten were dead in the quickest manner I could have hoped to achieve. All gruesome and bloody, done freehand! If this Sithis was watching, there was no doubting that his favor would fall singularly on me. In all of my latest work, not a soul had come to molest me or impede my breath as I worked. Perhaps I had crushed out the traitor in my fury, and all could finally settle back into the expected way of things.

This night, however, fortune spat back into my face from the Lucky Old Lady's lips. Tonight I had been coerced by the thin parchment left on the doorstep of Nornal to my own rotting seaside womb, Bravil. I had sworn emphatically to never again darken her door, but fate twists and teases, and this new problem was greater than any old reservation I had formed one day in times long passed. I hid now in her bowels, like a vile pest, eyeing the Lucky Lady basking in the moonlight.

"_Night and day this one prays to have his married whore? What's the use when the apple's already been bitten?"_

_True enough, but the Brotherhood would have the blood they had sworn to be spilt._ I hid even my nose in darkness. _How long had he prayed for his blushing, already deflowered bride?_ I nursed my opened bottle of Skooma. The Whisperers would remain quiet and keep vigil for tonight's execution.

The tiny elf came nearer to the Lady, undoubtedly knowing her power. From her bosom flowed many great things, I had learned in my youth. But, not even the Lady could remove the stain that had accumulated on my soul that night long ago.

At his most vulnerable, when he parted his disgusting lips to deliver a solemn hymn of hope, I lunged for him, dagger ready and shining like the night moon. He heard me, somehow, and turned in surprise, fear, but he was not ready. My dagger sunk in, a delicious split in the air resounded as I penetrated his fragile skin. The blood flowed like wine, like a fountain. He looked at me, eyes emptying slowly as the life poured out of him. There was fear, and some sort of knowing. _Had he known his time was short? That the husband of his beloved maiden had wished for his death?_ He gasped and sputtered an unholy symphony of desire as he died. My body tightened. It was almost public, his execution. It heightened the feeling, the artistry. I briefly thought of having a painting done to commemorate this moment. It was a moment of great achievement somehow. Something awesome had just occurred.

And the void developed. It pulled at my ankles and swallowed me. Something was wrong. I backed away from his failing systems and he tumbled to the ground. He let out a feeble sputter just before he expired, and the Niben carried his sobs on her waves to unknown localities. My dagger fell. I could no longer hold it. Something had happened- something unexpected. I saw the side of a guard near the corner. He did not move, as though he was deaf to the cries of the dying. _Had he been paid off? What was going on here?_ I was newly angered. _Was this nothing but a ruse? Have I been lead out- drawn out for slaughter?_  
I looked around me, insistent that there had been some kind of foul play that was not my own. All at once I found myself on the floor, overcome by some dark force at work that I could not fathom.

"By Sithis, what have you done? What madness has claimed you?" The words shot though the dark. They were heavy on top of me. A familiar heaviness. An erotic heaviness. _Lucien?_

"Unhand me! Do you not see that we are in the presence of company?" I tried to shove him off of me, but, as experienced before, his strength was triumphant over my own. _He would not have me, not here!_

His thumbs pressed into my throat. I felt myself gasping and sputtering. _Did he want me like this? Now?_

"Lucien, you are mad!" I finally pushed him away, and we were staring at one another in the foreboding moonlight. We stared for a long moment, unable to read one another's expression.

"You have betrayed me! You have betrayed the Dark Brotherhood! Why!" he hissed through his teeth. "Why, my most cherished sister?" He drew a silvery dagger from his cloak. It shone like diamond dust in the torch and moonlit night. He held it to my throat. "Now I understand the depth of your darkness! I will end you miserable life," the bass in his voice faltered and tears welled in his eyes like droplets of mead, "my dearest, dearest, sister…" he turned away from me, withdrawing his dagger with deep bitterness.

"What have I done, Love?" I choked on the words like thistle, though they tumbled out with no meaning. _For what reasons were they uttered? _ "Are these not the orders you've left me?" I reached into my bosom gently, carefully, and I withdrew the thing parchment which contained my orders from my keeper, my Speaker. "Are they not?" I persisted.

He received them with a free hand, incredulous, frightened—hoping. He was hoping for something, but the meaning would be lost to me.

"They… they are not. What has happened? My own family would have me dead for this betrayal. You pleaded with me, only for your dead drops to go unvisited. You have been killing our family, our Black Hand, Sister."

"Surely you are mistaken. These orders, all orders, done in your hand alone!"

"You take me for a fool? Orders to assassinate my own order? You think I would write a writ for Ungolim's demise? The Listener? Have you no idea the unspeakable stonework you have been carving?" He inspected the parchment more thoroughly. "No, most certainly not. These are not my words, though they appear written in my hand. They are not! What foolish devilry has been about?" He crumpled the orders in his hands. I waited expectantly for them to burst into flame.

"Dear Speaker, fear not. We'll—"

"The Hand seeks to have me killed. I am being hunted night and day. They fancy I twist your most expert hand and carve their headstones." The events settled in quickly from there. His own Hand would seek to choke him out! All at once there was a flash in his eyes: an idea. "All of the Draconis family lies dead, yes? You have done us that small favor?" His tone was condescending. The Whisperers reared up and hissed, like an offended cat. "At Applewatch then we shall reconvene. They will not know to inspect that place." We left then, going separate ways, riding the wind of the night, carried on the train of Nocturnal's cloak of darkness.

The night hung close, like wretched beggars, grasping for coins and pity. My feet were never quick enough to brush them off. The arduous road stretched out long ahead. There was no telling yet just how long the road twisted and turned before I would see Applewatch along the horizon. Death was at our heels—Lucien and my own. _Had the traitor been using me?_ All this time, being manipulated.

"_Interesting yet that none of your orders call for the murder of your beloved bedfellow."_

"Of course they wouldn't. It would be too obvious then. It's a fine act, a play."

"_The only play here is being orchestrated by the middle finger of the Hand. They are in your Speaker's hand because they are _of _your Speaker's hand, fool!"_

"_Too stupid to know when you're being used, Dear." One Whisperer put on a matronly voice._

"_You'd think it's about time to come around. Apparently being sneezed into like a tissue on occasion doesn't always provide a sense of humbling clarity," another snickered._

They would not break me, not even on this long stretch of road in the dead of night where the Spriggans lurked in the auspicious hour where the Grey Maybe filtered in and out of Mundus.

"I will drown every single one of you in the river! There is work to be done, you vile shadows!"

"_And yourself with us? _Please _do! We love a good laugh!"_ Their laughs began as a low buzzing in the corners of my brain, but pressed on; with every step onto the beaten cobblestone path the volume elevated and their sound spread like a virus or a rash. It stretched along like scaly, blistering patches of annoyance and festering wounds of irritation. My brain felt hot and crowded; I could not stop my teeth from grinding against one another. They carried on for hours in the dark, bickering and berating me, and having casual conversations of their own. The signs signaled that I was at the crossroads of the Red Ring Road, and as I pressed on the territory began to look more familiar. _Where had I seen it before?_ It seemed lonelier this time.

The memory flashed like a firebolt. It came as a hazy spark, like being hit with a fist. A bladed memory, a new memory, still with its edge, would cut, but this one was too old. The sun rose around the hills in the distance. I saw the sunlight stretching over the grass and causing the trees to cast shadows. When I had last traveled along this road I had not been alone, but in good company. I did not fancy them at the time, but they believed themselves my friends. They laughed and joked in fuzzy words, and the glare blocked out their faces. I made haste even then, but the drove that followed me weighed me down still. I was running away from something then. Something I could not face.

"_I will not welcome you when you return."_

"_Then I shan't return."_

The midday sun flared and destroyed all shadow. The voice was in the bright sunlight: Martin. It was the last time I had seen him.

I had ran from him—I could not show my shame to him. The shame he had given me; the shame I laid on myself. He had gone on to do great things in my absence. He lead himself to sacrifice and saved his country, his people—me. _No, not me._ I was elsewhere at the time, but, had he thought of me?

Guilt washed through me. My feet felt heavy. _What if he _had_ thought of me?_ Perhaps he thought I truly drowned in the Niben, or was slain by the very creatures whose souls I devoured. What if his sacrifice was in some misguided, hideous attempt at protecting me from the terrors that I fled from_? No, the only terror I fled was the promise of his heart. _I could not be what was needed. I could not give love.

A terrible pain arrested me and wrenched me to the ground. The sunlight fell from the landscape and I was alone in the present darkness again. My heart folded up on itself, beating heavily. I couldn't breathe. I looked forward in the darkness, clenching my chest and belly. Feeble moans escaped my lips. The weight crashed down. The Whisperers hissed with new ferocity:

"_How many times do we tell you to think not on these things? Evil visions and lies you have cooped up in your skull! You make yourself sick with fairy tales!" _They pulled at my body and my very soul like a puppeteer tugs a puppet's strings.

"No!" _Was I sobbing?_ "These are _my _memories. Let me have them!" I wanted to understand.

"_You would break down the Ghostfence that keeps the seething, dark parts of you out of your head? You can barely endure our company, how do you plan to live alone with yourself, knowing all parts of who that self really is? Disgusting."_

"They are mine, and I will have them!" I shouted into the blackness.

"_So we can listen to you unhinge? Hear the squealing hinges as they come loose and break from your mind?"_

"_You can never go back, you know." _ All else had ceded to let the lone voice speak.

I could endure it no longer. I thought again of the sunlight of that midday along the Red Ring Road in times long past. The smiling faces on horseback, their armor clanging loudly with each step. My own horse's footfalls could be heard growing louder as the sun rose. I was running away from him, from Martin. It was something more, too, some deviant dark thing, unholy and hidden by the months gone by and the devilish wardens of my memories. I raced backward in time, trying to find the source of it all, the glimmer of sanity in the acid bowels of the rot and bile my mind swam through day and night. There was something more to me, in me, and I had to unlock it. I raced over the hill, backward into my memory, toward that castle of stone and foreign architecture.

Tumbling hoof over hoof I could finally begin to see the spires of the Akaviri structure yawning over the hills. In my mind I dismounted and pushed past the heavy metal and wood doors, seeing again in reverse the last moment I spent with the last heir to the Septim bloodline. It moved somewhere between slow motion and still images, moving backward and forward in time, never ceasing.

_"'Morning to you." _His smile seemed gentle and familiar_. "It is truly a shame that you must depart now. You waste the beautiful day." _And yet he seemed troubled now.

_"Hardly. I will be enjoying all of Dibella's beauty in the world on my way."_ I could again feel the coldness I felt then. I felt certainly, but for uncertain reasons.

_"Oh, but you misunderstand." _He knelt down and cupped my chin in his hand. I recoiled, standing up and slinging my rucksack over my shoulder.

_"I understand__perfectly__well. I must be going. They're waiting for me outside."_

_"Only but a moment more. I must say goodbye."_ He stood as well.

I stared him in the eyes then, but now I could not watch._ "Goodbye, Martin."_

And then he died.

The memories seemed all fresh now, like blades cutting. I could remember all of myself. All this time I had been staring into a broken mirror, catching glimpses of myself, but never knowing truly who it was. Now I could see it all in living, hideous color. Staring back at me was a corpse in the mirror. _What have I become?_

I heaved myself again upon the cracked ground. I was freezing now. _Was this death?_ I looked around. Snow powdered the ground and truly now I could see the sunrise making its first attempts over the horizon. I had traveled through the night, evidently running while lost in my own thoughts. Applewatch would be nearby. _Was I leading yet another man to his death?_ I could not be certain. Now I felt all of me. It was horrible. The ache; the pain. The anger that had once seethed now dried up and left me alone in cold. I was cold and empty, dripping like a broken well pump. I dried my eyes. Applewatch would be nearby. I inhaled sharply.

"_An apt time to go soft, hm?"_

They were still there to pester me. I would never be rid of them. They were just as much a part of me as everything else—everything they had hidden for me. It was always there and would always be there. There was no escape, not a chance.

We would not be cornered like rats here. The prowl of the Hand would go on fruitless. Now that I was here, in my entirety, heads would need to roll; the machine of death would not stop.


	34. A Kiss Before Dying

No affiliation with TES series, Bethesda Softworks, etc… Hetalia, OC, intellectual property of Kliban Katz. _Italics_ represent a current thought.

Chapter Summary:

The Hands of the Brotherhood are upon Hetalia and Lucien, grabbing desperately with murderous intent. They have fled to Applewatch, the scene of the sunset of Perennia Draconis' life not so long ago. In the sleepy hours of the morning, though, Applewatch becomes the deathbed of another.

* * *

The homestead of Applewatch appeared silent and dead in the still sunrise. I approached unsteadily on my feet but in my chest there was a renewed vigor as I forced myself out of the shuddering cold. The door to the interior swung open nearly unbidden, and its dank walls hung as mustily as it had in time not so long ago when the Draconis matron still walked the land.

Though never fully alone, I felt alone now in the awkward company of my ill-gotten friends—the Whisperers and the yellowed corpse of the widowed crone. This was to be a safe haven, a place where the Hand could not molest me, where the misdirected fiends, no guildmates, could not satisfy the itch of their blades on a Speaker's carcass. They could not find me here. I edged nearer to the dividing wall, and now out of the wind, I could feel weariness growing. I pulled my arms around my knees against the wooden divider of the shack-house. I hid my tender belly from the dark lies and their sharp claws.

The bitter cold tore through me still through the cracks in the aging wood. I rocked backward and gazed sideways at the blank stare and gasping mouth of my sole, belated companion.

"Such a sad sort, to be hinted like this, eh? Benevolence and goodwill met with violence." My words rolled along the dirt floor, meandering to no one in particular. "Ah, but we all follow orders, the same archaic plan for our lives, until the gods or daedra step in and have their way. For you it was some facet of Padomay that told you 'no.' The same facet that told me 'yes.'"

Her eyes seemed knowing, wide open, though asleep.

"The gods and daedra, they do not love," I continued. "They cannot. They only want. Want is a human thing, too—how foolish. Do they care for anything? Some days I wonder." Perennia began to sag from where she had been resting. "Oh, but do not be in that way. Your death was not the result of blind allegiance... Fodder for the machine. We are all fodder for the machines—the siege crawlers, the cruel courts, the insatiable greed, the blood that keeps my own gears continually turning. If it wasn't me, someone else would have come along to end you– and you wouldn't have turned out half as pretty. Those louts in the Brotherhood could care less for technique. Bah!"

Slowly, Perennia's head moved to form an understanding nod.

"_What are you babbling on about? Conversing with a corpse, nearly over a month old? Well, soon enough you'll have much more in common unless you do something about it!"_

"Hush! Shut your disgusting mouths or whatever have you! All along blathering about nonsense! Disgusting, foolish devils!" I batted them out of the air with the backs of my hands. Even if I could not see them, that did not mean they weren't more than little gnats!

"_Duchess, we only aim to serve. Serve as Anya did. Serve as Syl did."_ Their words were poison. They'd conjure up any ghost for their purpose- whatever their purpose was.

I shivered. "And who do you serve, you filthy curs? Surely who you name Duchess is not your master—you do not heed me."

"_Who do you serve, Lady? You have long only served yourself. Your greed and wanderlust forced you away from the only thing that loved you. Your heretic heart tore you from your governing seat in the Madgod's court. Your boundless bloodlust drives you to unfathomable depths. Is there no end to your depravity? Go again through the door and find the seat of these things. Sit in it. Grow roots into the stone. That is the only place where you will ever truly be welcomed."_

"I have duties here that must be fulfilled here above all else."

A roaring laughter resounded and shook the walls all around. "_Nonesense!"_

_ " The Speaker? Just a body that invades your own, and your mind, too."_

_ " Nothing special by your records."_

_ " And how you'll face the wrath of his hounds as they follow your bloody trail. Is it worth it?"_

_ " No!"_

_ " Cast him by the wayside. The only in thing in which you ought to be selfish. What is wrong with you?"_

"How can you ever know? You do not know all of me. You do not know my heart. It is my decision alone whether to be selfish or not. Know your station."

"_Lady, you said yourself you have no heart!"_

"Hush!"

The creaking door shuddered as it inched open. A dark robed figure peered in before committing itself to the space. It was Lucien. I looked lazily upon him, spinning in the flurry and the fury of the words and our heated conversation. In my mind was swimming a great many things, like in the murky and living bog water.

"By Sithis," he cursed, coming to my side, seemingly out of breath. Something had suddenly arrested him. "What is that vile stench?" Lady Draconis looked up, bashfully.

"She's insulted. She won't speak to you." He ignored me. The Whisperers chuckled.

"Well, nothing can be done now. We cannot remain here. The traitor must be located and exposed. It is the only way to clear my name. Otherwise we'll bleed for this." He looked around and froze as he drank up my face so it shined in his eyeballs. "Sister, you do not look well."

"The dead cannot go on without being killed." It was unthinkable. The doomed to die could not continue to walk.

"What?" Apparently this simple truth was lost to him. The milky pallor of death dripped from the walls of the decrepit shack. In his face I could see bones.

"Applewatch knows. They'll know, too, the Hand. The traitor is right here... the walls." We were doomed to die here tonight.

Just as Martin Septim had been doomed to die when I cast him off my sleeve. Just as I left the Isles doomed to die when I skirted out of its Fringe. I was a yellowed thing at heart. Anything worth having in me dried up like a putrefied radish. I could not will myself to hold onto any single thing. I fought to find meaning in new things and abandon the old ones.

Now I was leading this man to his death, too, if he could not be abdicated. My life was not too extraordinary to not be stamped out. He would die without a saving hand to intervene. He would feed the insatiable bloodlust and the legacy would end there.

"Lucien," he had been chattering about something. My words halted his. I knew what I must do. "Lucien, I know the traitor." He immediately turned to me. I could see the gears in his head cease turning and restart.

"How? Who is it? We'll go immediately!" His eyes were wild. I pulled myself up from the dirt floor and close the space between us. I cleared my throat.

_ "Don't you _dare_,"_ they hissed.

"Tell me, do you not notice the numerous deaths in the Hand by my blade? Have you neglected to see the truth before you? You say 'no, it cannot be so. The treachery is more deep seeded.' Ah, but you are wrong!" I forced a laugh, my brittle insides quivering as I made my body shake with laughter. "How simple are you that you do not detect the length of time that I have been tangled in your covert, deadly affairs? Even murderers can be bought. _Especially." _ I whirled my arms about my body. "_I_ am the traitor, and you have been deceived!" I laughed again. "Yes! Truly!" I seized his hands and crooned my story into his face. "Can you not see it?" A frightening grin tore its way up the sides of my face. The skin was near splitting. My cheeks ached.

He chewed it over in his head. "No, impossible. There is no motive. You know as well as I do, dear Sister, that you are in jest. A _deadly _jest. Stop this." His face grew quickly stolid and serious. _Did he not see the cause to laugh? To laugh in the futility of it all! He's been used! I used him! Ha! Hahaha!_

"No, no! I _am_ the traitor!" I cackled and spun about. _Was I mad? If I were, here, here I would bleed madness. Color the walls!_

I could convince him yet. I would have to. To fail would seal this man's fate. Was it love? It was a long unused and foreign word. I could no longer be sure if its meaning. Actions were certain, measurable, though. I lunged for his dagger at his thigh, make the decision for him, but he clasped his hands around my own. I struggled to drag it to myself.

"It is I, don't you see?" I pressed my cheek against his, breathing into the adjacent air, biting at the flesh of his face. "This is the only way to curtail the darkness from you. There is much work yet for you to do." _I must be a martyr in something. My life had long been consecrated to nothing._ "Kill me as a traitor. Let me die a traitor. I am the traitor of the world." Over his shoulder, I could see the sun rising through the dusty windows. How strange to see the sun rising, when it is, in fact, setting.

"You make little sense, Sister. You madness worsens. This cannot be." He struggled to pull away; I bit hard at his face and he flinched. I would not allow him to wrestle the dagger from my grasp. I tugged at it gently.

"Please!" I could hear a fluttering in the distance, a rapping at the windows. My stomach lurched. _They were here! The Hand would have their sacrifice! It would be me. The Speaker must trade the title of traitor to evade the chopping block. It must be so! Color the walls with blood and let Oblivion devour the traitor of Nirn, of Mundus, the vile, purtrid, rapist of everything good and kind and noble and worthwhile._

"They're here!" He gasped, darkly. His eyes were suddenly off of me. Now was the time.

I tugged hard at the blade, freed it, and mated it to myself. There was nothing romantic about it. The air leaped out of my lungs and all thought seemed to cease as it sunk into my abdomen.

"_What have you done!" _The Whisperers hissed and shrieked.

Lucien turned his attention back to me, his eyes filled with unfathomable horror.

"Why? Why?" It was all he could say.

"You know what you must do." Blood gurgled out from my lips. The metallic taste was pleasing.

"I can still, we can still… I can stop the bleeding." He cased the dirty room for supplies. I yanked the dagger in my belly to and fro, like gutting a fish.

"No!" I cried. "Let me have this." Lucien's eyes clouded over. _Tears, maybe? No._ I felt an acidic burning now along with the hideous cutting sensation. "A poisoned blade. This is why you are Speaker." A blood-slickened smile dripped along my face. As my grip loosened, Lucien tore the dagger out of my belly before any more damage could be wrought. But there was nothing left to be done now. Blood and fluids shot all over, their proper pathways having been severed. I could hear the drowning echoes of someone beating on the door. It had been barricaded. It wouldn't be long now. I sunk to the floor. "I am the traitor. _Tell them._"

"Sleep now, in Sithis," Lucien whispered, with eyes of horror, terror, regret, and a million other fleeting feelings. I shook my head with the last of my strength. My vision darkened. The demons and daedra crawled out of the peripherals of my vision to collect me. _What have I done?_

"No," I breathed. "This soul had already been claimed for the Madgod."

* * *

I would like to take a moment to thank all of you who have taken this journey with me. This is my first novel-length manuscript and second complete fanfiction for the Elder Scrolls series. I have grown tremendously through this process and am thrilled that I stuck it through to the end, after nearly three years of writing, after nearly my entire college career. All of your reviews and comments, praise and criticism, have been appreciated and I look forward to hearing more from all of you in response to my future work.

I have many threads that need tying up on existing fiction, and many things planned for the future, but my next big project (aside from my novel) is _The One-Winged Warbler_, which is based in the TESV: Skyrim timeline. I am currently reworking and planning the outline, but expect updates before the close of the year. The chapters up now are not the final product.

The best place to find my work is through my writing blog, Glaring Fallacies, linked in my user profile here. Please follow me there if you would like to read more of my work and possibly exclusive fiction. Feel free to contact me. Thank you everyone!


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